


self control (keep a place for me)

by ylang



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, F/F, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 22:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21126335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylang/pseuds/ylang
Summary: 2 times Emily waits for Lindsey, 2 times Lindsey waits for Emily, 1 time they both wait (+1 time they can't wait)





	1. you cut your hair, but you used to live a blonded life

**Author's Note:**

> pls enjoy this overly complicated 5+1 fic that made me do math
> 
> work title and all chapter titles are from self control by frank ocean, bc i am a frank ocean gay first and a human second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily sees Lindsey again.

Emily Sonnett never thought that she’d see her again. 

But at her first meeting as a team for the Thorns, there she is, across the room, talking to Tobin Heath like it’s nothing.

Somewhere deep down, Emily knew that they would probably cross paths eventually, most likely at a national team camp where Emily would be working her ass off to ensure a future call up and where the other woman would look like she wasn’t even trying (she didn’t need to). And more recently, after being drafted, she knew who were going to be rookies, like her, thrown into the daunting task of proving to Portland’s die hard fans that being exchanged for Alex fucking Morgan is worth it. 

But for some reason, it never felt like it was going to be a reality, just an afterthought. Even when she got the call from Mark, even that morning while practicing what to say in the mirror, even right outside of Providence Park preparing herself for the first day of her future, it had never occurred to Emily that she might see her. 

Maybe it’s the whole ‘going to play soccer as a job’ thing. Maybe it’s moving to Portland, far away from Georgia down south and Virginia in the east, where no one knows her and yet where everything feels so much more relaxed, which is stressful and strange. Maybe it’s the thought of playing with legends like Tobin Heath and Christine Sinclair taking over the small rational portion of her brain. Maybe it’s because she just isn’t ready to think about it and Emily is both a talented procrastinator and pushing-feelings-down-er. 

Maybe it’s because Emily somehow forgot how _ tall _ Lindsey Horan is.

Lindsey Horan, who would have no qualms about being able to measure up, who always measured up and then managed to go further. The generational star, who turned down a scholarship from UNC, who played at PSG and scored 46 goals in 56 appearances. She’s _ good _. So good. She was so good at PSG, will be so good with the Thorns, and was so good at that U-18 camp, where she and Emily first met.

Emily remembers it vividly. She remembers how her hair was longer and got in the way, how her voice was softer and shyer. She was a naive and clueless baby, but to be fair, all of the girls in that camp were. Their confused teen girl angst unknowingly bonded them together. 

Or at least, it should’ve. But, she was the newbie, coming into a group that had already been established. Her laugh felt too explosive, her accent too strong, her stutter too prominent.

And it should’ve been one of the worst experiences of her life. But being back at home, sticky and humid, with nothing and everything to do, didn’t even compare.

It was oddly relaxing, focusing on soccer and only soccer, surrounded by people who were completely dedicated to one thing and one thing only. No distractions, no whispers, no looks in the locker room. And no drama, or at least, no drama about boys, which Emily never understood. She figured that she was just too busy. She had dreams, and that came first, and no sweaty, pimply boy could change that. 

(Well, until the right one came along, which is what she told her gossipy aunts when they asked her over Thanksgiving dinner if she had a boyfriend.)

So she didn’t worry too much about not being included in late night parties in hotel rooms, runs to the local supermarket, singing along and dancing before games. Because once they stepped on that field, it didn’t matter.

And maybe that’s what drew her first to Lindsey, who was always so focused and serious. Even though she had friends to do dumb stuff with, things that Emily would’ve jumped at the chance to participate in, maybe even killed for. Teenage Emily was desperate. A little cringey, but that hasn’t changed much if you asked her.

The point is, Lindsey wasn’t. Lindsey was indifferent. Lindsey was collected. Lindsey looked like she had her shit together.

It was admirable just how hard she worked and how much and how clearly it paid off. Emily would be in awe of how tirelessly Lindsey would practice even during their off day, how seamlessly she could score a goal, how effortlessly she was able to show everyone up on the fitness tests.

(It was those muscles that Lindsey had that allowed her to do that. She probably worked out a lot. Emily only looked at them from a soccer-based standpoint. From one athlete to another. Guys work out together all the time, so why would it be any different?) 

Lindsey was like a machine. 

A pretty machine, though. One with soft rosy cheeks and nice piercing eyes and smooth hair. And a sweet smile.

The only time Emily saw her smile was on the field, after scoring a goal. Emily would usually get the assist, and then Lindsey would smile at _ her _, all blue eyes crinkling up and dimples. 

And there was something about that smile. Something about being a team, being depended on. Something about being liked. Something about being liked by Lindsey. Something about having it directed at Emily, and only Emily. Something about it felt right. 

Emily wanted to be the one to make Lindsey smile. 

She wanted it so bad and so desperately and so _ completely _, like she did with everything she felt. She wasn’t even sure why, but she didn’t let that bother her. Emily never liked to think. She’d rather save that for later, in the aftermath of whatever mess she had thrown herself into (and then she’d think too much). 

And all too _ quickly _, the yearning to see even the tiniest smile peek through on Lindsey’s face washed over Emily, until, by the end of camp, she was completely obsessed. Emily was drowning in it. 

(She chalked it up to her annoying need to have everyone like her and nothing else. It was just her nature.

And if she played some of the best soccer of her life there, that was just a coincidence.)

But eventually, camp had to end, and Lindsey would leave without so much as a goodbye smile or even a goodbye curt nod, because no matter how much Emily would try to make her smile, Lindsey was not Emily’s friend, and never will be. 

(Which was fine, obviously.)

So Emily would move on. She went to UVA, and Lindsey went go to PSG, and that was it. That was it, except for how she would sometimes watch PSG’s games, hoping for a pixelated close-up on familiar blue eyes, intense and sharp. Except for how Emily’s mind would drift to that camp while restless late at night. Definitely except for how a voice whispered to her when she turned over to another side that maybe it wasn’t platonic.

(If anyone asked why she kept up with PSG, she would say it was just her duty as a player to support and follow professional leagues. It was, technically, her homework to watch great players and learn from them, like Tobin Heath. Great players like, oh, you know that girl who went pro out of high school? Emily could never quite remember her name when people asked, but somehow not saying her name made Emily’s heart flutter more. 

She would push it down as if she was about to throw up.)

But, she pushed through with her life throughout college. Was able to cross off a couple of things on her list, made it through without dying and luckily, with a job waiting for her after it all. Became co-captain, got drafted first overall, played with the USWNT, dated a few boys and when that didn’t work out after a couple of revelations, a few girls. By senior year, she didn’t think at all about Lindsey Horan. 

It’s probably because she pushed it to the side. Eighteen is an embarrassing time. Even more embarrassing is falling for a girl in less than a week. And then not realizing it. And then keeping those feelings for way longer than what is considered normal. 

All for Lindsey Horan.

(Emily just tells herself that Lindsey is an unimportant person who just so happened to be one of the catalysts to the whole mess of self-revelation and insecurity that comes with your late teenage years. Emily tries not to think of the other contributing factors in her coming-of-age, so why would Lindsey be any different? Her teenage life wouldn’t make a great coming-of-age movie. It wouldn't win any awards. And either way, Emily prefers comedies.)

Not that Emily is less embarrassing now, at 22 years old. Especially since she’s just standing there stupidly, staring at Lindsey, who starts to take notice and walks over. 

Emily’s brain short-circuits. Seeing her is one thing, but _talking_ to her? Emily doesn’t have time to think of a witty, but polite one-liner, much less one suited for Lindsey Horan. And definitely much less one suited for a teenage gay awakening turned colleague. But more truthfully, Emily doesn’t have time to think at all.

The one thing she thinks, however, is that Lindsey’s eyes look so blue. Terrifyingly ice cold blue. And her hair is now brunette, chestnut brown and pulled back into a ponytail. It looks different. It looks nice.

(Emily almost doesn’t notice the smile, the infamous smile, because she’s so caught up in the eyes that look right through Emily. But, to be fair, the smile doesn’t reach them.)

Emily doesn’t refocus until she hears her talk.

“Hi, I’m Lindsey.”

Smooth, calm, professional. Emily offhandedly wonders if Lindsey’s voice had always been that deep. And then she notices Lindsey’s hand, outstretched for a handshake, and grasps it, hoping that she isn’t gripping it too strongly or too loosely.

“I’m, um. Emily. Uh. Sonnett.” Eloquent answer, as always. 

Emily stares at Lindsey, trying to figure out any reaction, any sort of recognition at all. But Lindsey’s face is unreadable. The situation isn’t even awkward enough to warrant a laugh, but somehow the silence is worse. It means Lindsey doesn’t want to try and fill it up. 

It means that Emily feels like she’s eighteen again under Lindsey’s gaze. 

Like Lindsey had grown up and Emily stayed as the same immature and emotionally constipated teen. Like they were back at camp and Emily had just tried to make small talk after practice all sweaty and gross but had forgotten what to say because Lindsey, who somehow looked amazing even after a rough practice, had moved to redo her ponytail. Like Emily wore her own hair in a long braid that felt too heavy and an equally heavy cross around her neck and everything was so much more complicated but she didn’t know it yet. 

(This, in comparison, is so _ simple_, but Emily knows she’s overthinking. Even if she can’t stop.)

So Emily would wait.

Emily could wait. She waited for Lindsey to smile at her for a whole camp, goddamnit, she could wait for Lindsey to give her a sign. Just one, small sign.

A sign that maybe Emily didn’t waste that whole stupid camp so Lindsey would forget about her. 

(She should also maybe wait to get emotionally invested into an old teenage crush, but that’s a thought for later. Definitely later.)

It’s probably the dumbest idea ever (but when is Emily known for her smart ideas?) because Lindsey gives an awkward chuckle and starts to look elsewhere, probably seeking out Tobin to get her away. 

(In on any other day, Emily would think about how badass that is. But now, it’s just embarrassing.) 

Emily might’ve been making a face without realizing, her emotions betraying her as usual, because Lindsey asks, “I apologize for asking, but do I know you?” 

It’s embarrassing how Emily doesn’t even hesitate before she blurts out, “I, uh. Yeah, we, uh. Met before.”

Her face feels hot and she knows that she’s biting her lip and she knows she’s screwing up, badly. But all she can do is bulldoze through and hope for the best, her specialty. Clear heart, full eyes, bright mind. Or whatever the saying is.

Maybe Lindsey asked because she finally remembered, Emily thinks, somewhat desperately while fidgeting with the hem on her sweatshirt. She suddenly wants to take it off. 

It feels just like all those times Emily tripped over herself trying to impress Lindsey. It feels like Emily not knowing how to act when Lindsey smiled at her, face flushed. It feels like Lindsey is too tall.

Lindsey gives her a polite smile. Her eyes stay cat-like, fixating on Emily. It’s the only time when Emily wishes that they weren’t.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I remember you at all.”

And Emily waits for the ground to swallow her whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i tend to ramble so im gonna try and condense this in a list
> 
> 1\. that was some semifinal huh. cant say i was surprised tbh. hope this makes yall feel a bit better!  
2\. sometimes i think of [this](https://www.timbers.com/post/2016/07/13/any-other-name-thorns-fc-goalkeeper-coach-nadine-angerer-interviews-emily-sonnett) article. nadine angerer asking abt glee, sonnett talking abt anne hathaway, and obviously, saying that lindsey horan is her closest friend on the team and that theyve known each other for a while. its a lot  
3\. pls leave comments! i've had this written for so long that i dont know if this is good anymore  
4\. speaking of having this written for quite a while, i have most of the chapters already written so expect regular updates if i remember  
5\. also, this might be wildly inaccurate as to has a team works. its gonna be safe to say that most soccer related stuff will be me making it up. i have never played soccer (and obviously not on a professional level) bc i play the superior gay sport, softball (also swimming. its not rly a gay sport but i felt that i should represent my swim girls bc its swim szn)
> 
> and lastly: +1. thank you so much for reading :-)


	2. i'll sleep between y'all, it's nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily makes dinner for Lindsey.

Emily is done waiting. 

Waiting is for losers who are chicken shit cowards. Losers who want to pine away creepily in silence for years because it’s better than any chance of rejection that could ruin a whole friendship that the hypothetical loser had spent years building from the bottom up. 

On second thought, maybe waiting is better.

No, Emily can’t back out again, not like the last couple of times. Times like when they won the NWSL championship and Emily wanted to kiss Lindsey right when the whistle blew. Or when they last went to go get avocado toast in the morning and Lindsey looked so soft in Emily’s sweatshirt. Or when they were in the back of the bus after a bad game and Lindsey rested her head on Emily’s shoulder and drew circles into Emily’s palm, as they both listened to Emily’s secret playlist that she made for them. Or whenever they would snuggle up next to each other, Emily’s head in Lindsey’s lap, Lindsey stroking her hair back with one hand (because the other would be found intertwined with Emily’s), and it took everything in Emily’s soul not to reach up and make the stupidest decision of her life.

(Those are some of the only times Emily is able to hold her big reckless mouth back. The thought of causing Lindsey any pain, seeing Lindsey’s blue eyes well up with tears that _ Emily _ caused, would be too much to handle.)

But this time is going to be different. 

Spontaneity has never seemed to work, so Emily had planned it out instead, ensuring at every point an escape in the likely possibility that she gets cold feet. She’s making dinner for them and invited Lindsey over, claiming that she found a new recipe that she wants to try out on someone. She practiced all the different ways she could respond to Lindsey’s reaction in the mirror, practiced saying the words, repeating them until they didn’t feel like they’re a mistake on her tongue. She set the thermostat to the temperature Lindsey liked, and even strategically placed hoodies in places easy to get to in case Lindsey got cold.

Her plan is infallible, she tells herself as she mindlessly chops vegetables for their dinner. She mouths it out, as if that would make it concrete.

All of a sudden, it feels so hard to fake confidence like she would normally do in uncomfortable situations. Her loud bravado feels as shaky as her hands holding the knife. 

Lindsey usually does that to her. Makes her so nervous that she could let some dangerous secrets slip. Makes her so in love that, despite her attempts at self control, she would let her guard down if Lindsey only asked.

If only Lindsey just asked.

There is a small part of Emily’s brain, the impulsive and animalistic part, that whispers to her while staring at Lindsey driving, or while going through the saved photos of them on her phone, that there is a chance that Lindsey would ask. An excruciatingly small chance, but a chance nonetheless.

Sometimes, Emily gives in. And then she’s hit with a whole slew of twisted truths that only a cold shower could make her forget. A supercut would play throughout her head for the rest of the day made up of odd stares Emily caught and glances down at lips in hotel rooms after showers and before bed. 

All interpretable, all hazy, and all so, so confusing.

The thing is: Lindsey is a very physically affectionate person. Which was a complete surprise to Emily once they became friends, totally shocked by the boundaries that just seemed to shrink and shrink. She was so used to the coldness Lindsey treated her with at that one camp.

(She’s still a bit bothered that Lindsey doesn’t remember, even _swears _that it never happened. Not a lot, but in a way that makes her laugh and want to forget everything about high school.)

Now, if Lindsey doesn’t do their handshake before a game, she feels just a little bit off for the whole 90 minutes. And that dependency, that _ neediness _ scares Emily to death.

(The only thing that scares her more is the line that Emily can’t figure out if they cross. The line between dependency and _ co_dependency.)

But Lindsey’s physical affection also means that nothing really means anything. Because it’s ‘what best friends do’. Hold hands and comment on all of the other's posts and call each other ‘babe’ and ‘honey’. Emily can’t get caught up in feelings that just aren’t there. It just isn’t the smartest thing to do.

Well, Emily isn’t smart. So, if she feels particularly stupid one day, Lindsey’s specific touches would drive Emily insane with what if’s. Simple touches, like fingers lingering at her waist, a soft kiss pressed to her head and shoulders, a hand on the thigh when posing for the camera that feels too invasive in the moment that seems to be just them, because she can only focus on Lindsey smiling at her. 

Emily sometimes wonders why Lindsey would do all of it. Do all of the holding hands and kisses on the cheek. Why Lindsey doesn’t do that with Caitlin, or Ellie. Or her boyfriend.

Her boyfriend. 

Lindsey’s fucking boyfriend. Lindsey’s douchebag boyfriend. Lindsey’s limp rag of a boyfriend. Lindsey’s leech-made-up-of-toxic-masculinity boyfriend.

He and Emily don’t like each other. 

Emily never asks why plans to get dinner together, or go on double dates, or meet when she visits Lindsey in Colorado always fall through. She just takes it in stride, as with everything that happens in their odd relationship.

Truthfully, she’s grateful. Whenever she sees his ugly face she wants to punch him and his smug grin. That grin he has like he’s taunting her, saying ‘I have her and you don’t’.

More truthfully, Emily always feels like a creep when thinking about him and Lindsey, jealousy turning to guilt. Like she’s acting entitled to something she doesn’t deserve.

Maybe she doesn’t deserve Lindsey. But, somewhat ashamedly, it makes her feel a little better that Lindsey’s boyfriend _ definitely _ doesn’t either. 

That helps with how it makes Emily sick to her stomach when Lindsey comes to her crying from something Emily doesn’t have to ask about, something she admittedly doesn’t want to ask about. Sick, like the whiplash she gets from their on and off relationship. Sick, like the strange feeling of satisfaction of knowing that she could treat Lindsey better. She would do it right.

Emily knows that Lindsey knows that he's toxic.

Sometimes, she wonders if she’s making it up. That she's manipulating the truth, manipulating Lindsey. That she only sees him as toxic because she wants him to be - no, needs him to be - as a justification for why Lindsey should be with _her _instead of him. Thoughts like that are a consequence of waiting so much. 

Because after so many times of asking her if she was sure of getting back together, and after so many interventions, all Emily can do is wait. Wait and think and then think too much. Which she’s great at. She’d been practicing. All she’d been doing was practicing.

Practicing how to sleep next to Lindsey in the same bed. Practicing how wake up in the morning to make both of them coffee. Practicing how to kiss her softly on the cheek as a greeting. Practicing how to pay for both of their meals when they went out. Practicing how to flirt in ways that threaded the line with friendly banter. Practicing how to comment on all of Lindsey’s dad’s Instagram posts. Practicing how to make them both dinner, like she’s doing right then and there. Like she had been doing for the past two years.

Sometimes, it makes Emily so frustrated how they’re so _ close _ . Somehow, the small step from platonic to romantic is worse than having no chance at all. They’re doing all of the things girlfriends are supposed to do, all of the things Lindsey and her boyfriend sure as hell don’t do. Emily waits and waits and _ waits _ and sue her, she gets angry sometimes.

Angry with God for deciding it’d be a fun thing to screw around with her, angry with Lindsey’s boyfriend for mistreating Lindsey (and for just existing), angry at Lindsey for being able to have such a hold on Emily, and angry with herself for being a coward.

But being a coward is over. Because Lindsey’s been broken up with her boyfriend for five months now, the longest they’ve ever gone broken up (not that Emily’s keeping track), with no attempts at getting back together. Emily’s ready. 

(Correction: she’s _ probably _ ready. Maybe a good 70% ready. The kind of ready where at the first whiff of something going wrong, she’d bolt.)

And as if the universe is reading her mind, the doorbell rings, snapping Emily out of her thoughts. 

She tells herself, again, that she’s ready. Maybe if she thinks it enough, it’ll make it real.

So she takes a deep breath, and opens the door.

Lindsey looks so stunning. 

(She isn’t wearing anything special, sweatpants and a sweatshirt that Emily has seen a million times before. But Lindsey always makes it work.)

And she’s smiling.

(Emily should’ve noticed that it didn’t reach her eyes, that there’s none of the usual crinkles around them, but she’s so nervous that she glosses over it and doesn’t think. She never thinks.)

“Look who finally decided to show up!” she says, while leaning on the doorframe. She feels oddly relaxed. Maybe it’s Lindsey. 

“Shut up, and let me in, I’m hungry,” Lindsey replies with a smirk, pushing Emily out of the way. She moves through Emily’s apartment like she lives there, and Emily is content to trail behind her. 

(She’d follow Lindsey wherever. No questions asked. She knows Lindsey would do the same. It’s terrifying and thrilling. It’s _ platonic_, she reminds herself. That’s what friends do for each other.)

“I don’t know, maybe I shouldn’t feed you the amazing meal I whipped up, seeing as you can’t even bother to come on time.”

Lindsey just laughs, a cute giggle she always does, even if Emily’s joke isn’t that funny. It makes Emily’s heart race, and just like that, she’s nervous again.

Emily walks into the kitchen to grab their plates and some diet coke for Lindsey that she keeps in her fridge, even though she prefers regular. She can’t remember how putting diet coke in her shopping cart became a daily thing.

“Didn’t know it took so long to choose the right sweatshirt to wear just to come over,” she calls out to Lindsey, who’s turning on the TV in the living room to Grey's Anatomy.

Lindsey stops laughing.

“Oh, I actually, uh, went out before this. That’s why I was late, traffic sucked.”

“Where?” Emily asks, distracted by trying to grab napkins with two hands full. It's hard, and she spent way too long on the plates to look good so they can take pictures of it for the napkins to mess her up, but she'll die before not taking everything in one go. 

There’s a pause, but Emily can’t think about it because it’s taking up all of her brain power to not drop everything.

“I had coffee with Russel.”

Emily’s brain does a quick shut down because of how much brain power comprehending _ that _ bombshell would use, forget about the napkins. She’s suddenly very thankful for the wall between her and Lindsey hiding how she almost lets everything crash to the ground. Funny, it’s just like how everything is crashing to the ground around her.

Russel. The fucking boyfriend. The _ ex _-boyfriend.

That last part has become a bit of a question mark, now, hasn't it?

She takes a deep breath, but her voice still cracks a little when she says, “I didn’t know he was in Portland.”

“He, uh, sort of just showed up. Said that he missed me. Missed us.”

Emily wants to ask if Lindsey missed him. If Lindsey would show up in Colorado just to take him back. A part of Emily doesn’t believe that Lindsey would. Because Emily knows how it feels. She would do that for Lindsey. Emily wants to ask Lindsey if she knows that. 

In summary, her plan is royally fucked.

Emily walks carefully into the living room, like it’s a trap she knows she’s going to get caught in. She sits down their plates and Lindsey’s diet coke on the coffee table, napkins noticeably gone, avoiding looking at Lindsey’s face. Any reaction would be too much. A completely blank face would be too much.

“How did it go?” A neutral question.

Lindsey doesn’t answer for a bit and Emily, against her better judgement, sneaks a glance at her. Her blue eyes are focused on the TV, and she was right, there is absolutely _ nothing _ on Lindsey’s face. She’s chewing her lip. She still looks beautiful, but Emily can’t think about it too hard or else she’d say the wrong thing and she knows it. 

“I don’t know. Good, I guess,” Lindsey says, all too nonchalantly, before taking a bite. “Wow, this is good, nice job, Sonny.” 

She’s changing the subject, and Emily doesn’t know why.

So Emily does what she does best, rush in without careful consideration. Because there’s too much in her mind and she can’t pay attention to all of it at once.

“Are you guys back together?”

Lindsey swallows. Emily can’t eat.

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to be together again?”

Emily holds her breath, but she already knows the answer. It’s the same answer she always gets.

“Yeah,” Lindsey says, then pauses, like she’s checking to make sure. “Yeah, I do.”

Emily nods. She can’t say that she’s surprised. She feels numb. She feels stupid. She feels like a _ coward _. 

So much for her dumb, naive plan. She should’ve seen this coming. Something always comes. At this point, Emily should stop trying.

She tries, instead, to eat. Lindsey’s politely pushing around food, she can tell. The soft TV and the sounds of Lindsey’s fork scraping on the plate are the only sounds in the room.

Emily would usually make a quip, comment on whatever drama had been going on in Grey’s, annoy Lindsey by stealing some of her food. But she can’t bring herself to. She’s scared that she’s ruining the friendship, even without saying anything. Because she can’t get over her feelings. Feelings that get in the way of being a good friend and being happy for Lindsey. Feelings that get in the way of letting her live her life. Feelings that get in the way of Lindsey living her life.

Maybe Emily should’ve made a joke because Lindsey starts to sniffle. Emily forgets everything about avoiding her eye contact and whips her head to face her and her blue eyes, which are avoiding Emily’s own, are welling up with big fat tears. 

She instinctively reaches out to pull Lindsey close. Lindsey buries her face into Emily’s neck and just cries, big heaving sighs that somehow seem too quiet. Emily strokes her hair softly, and lets her other hand rest on Lindsey’s back. 

(They’re too close, but it seems like it’s working so Emily swallows down that weird feeling in her stomach. Maybe it’s guilt. Maybe it’s love. Maybe she’s just hungry.)

Lindsey leans back and looks at Emily with those piercing eyes, now watery and soft. Emily wants nothing more than to reach her hand to cup Lindsey’s cheek and gently wipe away the tears. 

(She doesn’t. Because she’s terrified of when Lindsey would flinch away.)

“Did he do something to you, Linds?”

Lindsey sniffles again and laughs, “No. I don’t know why I’m crying. I guess I’m just kind of, you know, overwhelmed. I’m sorry, you made such a nice dinner and I ruined it.”

Emily wants to tell Lindsey how she could never ruin anything. How she’s one of the best things to happen to Emily ever. How Emily’s the one ruining it.

Emily just pulls Lindsey back in for a hug. 

Fuck plans. Lindsey will tell her when she’s ready.

And until then, Emily will stay. Because Lindsey deserves that. Lindsey deserves the world. Lindsey deserves someone that would be there no matter what, feelings aside. She deserves someone that could put everything on hold and rush over to her apartment just to laugh at something stupid. She deserves someone who would be there, waiting. And Emily will try to be enough for Lindsey, to quietly fill up the gaps in Lindsey's life for her. 

Emily would wait forever if it means that she will remain best friends with Lindsey for the rest of her life. She would wait forever if it means having Lindsey for just one more week. She would wait forever no matter what, even if they no longer play together on the Thorns. Even if they just drift apart after retirement. Even if Lindsey decides that she wants nothing more to do with Emily and quits soccer and moves across the world to become some sort of monk.

It would hurt, but Emily would rather remember moments like that time Emily took Lindsey to Waffle House for the first time. Like that time they went to Lindsey's old high school soccer field and kicked around a ball late at night. Even that U-18 camp that Lindsey swears never happened.

Even right then, Emily wants to remember. How it hurts. How Lindsey’s hair smells like vanilla. How she leans completely into Emily, like they’re two parts of the same whole and everything just _ fits_.

They depend on each other. They’re a package deal. They’re a team. They’re ride or dies. They're best friends. They’re _ something. _

As long as they’re not nothing, Emily would be fine. She should be fine, there’s no good reason for her not to be.

Emily can wait. She has to.

(To be honest, it’s not like there’s anyone else she would go for. It’s just Lindsey. Only Lindsey, like it’s always been.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so that got kind of dramatic at the end, whoops! 
> 
> thank you guys so much for the response on the last chapter, which i was definitely not expecting! idk if yall commented bc i asked or bc you wanted to but it was appreciated nonetheless :,)
> 
> next chapter is lindsey's pov ;-) i swear we start moving the plot a little more. these past 2 chapters have been a bit more introspective than i thought they'd be 
> 
> (also, may crs completely destroy ncc tomorrow)


	3. dance with tears in your eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lindsey and Emily dance for a night in France.

Maybe agreeing to Mal, Kelley, and Rose’s ideas isn’t the best plan of action.

They’re at a rave. A fucking rave in the middle of France in the midst of the World Cup craziness. 

Mal and Rose are already wasted without having anything to drink, because even though they’re already breaking the rules by sneaking out, Dawn still holds a special place in their hearts. Sam is dancing, off in her own world, an odd wiggle-adjacent dance that Lindsey has no idea how it matches with the booming bass that rattles Lindsey’s ribs. Kelley is screaming at the top of her lungs to the song playing, which has no lyrics. 

And Emily, well, Lindsey has no idea where she is. It shouldn’t worry Lindsey as much as it does. 

But without Emily, it feels like something’s missing. The music is too loud, everything feels so foreign, and she knows that she’s embarrassing herself by looking sad and lonely, standing awkwardly off to the side.

Emily, on the other hand, is never awkward. Actually, that isn’t true - if she’s awkward then it’s funny and puts everyone else at ease. Because she’s selfless like that. 

Emily always knows what to say, what to do, how to make everyone laugh. Even if no one else laughs, Lindsey will, because to her, Emily is _ always _ funny. 

(Emily grounds Lindsey, somehow, even though everyone thinks Lindsey is the stable one in their dynamic. If Lindsey is spiraling out of control, Emily could ease her back down to earth. If Lindsey forgets to take a break, Emily would be at her door with that stupid grin on her face. If Emily was with Lindsey right now, she would probably bring Lindsey out into the crushing crowd and dance with her until they lost breath from laughing too hard, cheeks aching. Even though Lindsey doesn’t dance, she’d dance with Emily.)

She should probably just try and find her, instead of thinking about her as if she’s dead, Lindsey thinks.

So Lindsey takes a deep breath and begins to push through the crowd awkwardly. She’s trying to say sorry in French, which probably comes across as completely ruined by that horrible American accent Lindsey always tried to shake, but no one can hear her over the blasting music to care. She finds Kelley. Emily most likely went off to do some dumbass dare from her. The last dare was to eat grass off of the pitch. Emily almost threw up.

Kelley turns and screams, “Lindsey! The Great Horan! Dance with me!” Her voice is completely shot, and Lindsey already knows that tomorrow morning is going to be fun.

Lindsey laughs, “Don’t call me that. Where is Sonny?”

Kelley stops dancing, and looks sheepish, “Oh, I don’t know. Huh. Weird. Maybe ask Mal and Rose?”

“Kelley, what did you force her to do? You know she can’t say no to dares, especially ones that you bully her into doing.”

“Nothing, I swear! I’m not that bossy! Now go ask Mal and Rose, you’re interrupting my zone.”

Lindsey gives her a salute and a roll of her eyes, “Yes, Miss Kelley.” 

So Lindsey gives up trying to reason with Kelley and tries to look around for Mal and Rose, who are, thankfully, not too far away, laughing at something on Rose’s phone uncontrollably. Lindsey can find them just by their loud cackles that somehow beat out everything else for the loudest sound in a five mile radius. 

“Guys, stop laughing like that, you look like maniacs.”

It, of course, makes them laugh harder in Lindsey’s face. On any other day, Lindsey would laugh along with them, but right now she has no time for that.

“Stop! Where’s Sonnett?”

“Oh, she’s right over there!” Mal yells, right as Rose points in the other direction. Rose elbows her, and whispers something that Lindsey can’t make out. 

(If the music hadn’t been so loud, Lindsey would probably stop to think about that. But everything is so _ distracting _, what with the sounds of French teen girls screaming and the flashing lights, and Lindsey is tired and is very quickly regretting the decision to come at all.)

“Oh my god, come on you guys! Does no one here respect the buddy system?”

“Uh, you’re always her buddy, you should know. Burn!” Mal says, accentuated with a high five from Rose. 

Lindsey’s friends are absolute children. 

It’s usually a charm point but right now she’s running out of patience for no reason at all.

As if on cue, Sam, the only real source of any parental guardian-adjacent care (even if it was just the effect of her height), does a little wiggle mixed with a shimmy over to their small huddle. 

“What’s up, my beautiful and lovely friends?”

“I’m looking for Sonn-“

Rose suddenly interrupts, “I’m doing great, thank you, Sam!”

But it’s too late, because Sam points excitedly in the direction Mal had originally pointed, and Lindsey doesn’t even bother to listen to what she said. She just shoots off, forging a path through the sea of people, only vaguely aware of Rose and Mal trailing behind and telling her to stop. 

And when she sees familiar blonde hair and broad shoulders, it suddenly hits her as to why. It hits her and then runs her over because Lindsey can’t jump out of the way quickly enough of the _ mess _ that she sees.

Because Emily is all pressed up against some mystery woman. Dancing with her. Smiling at her. 

A stranger who’s probably French and speaks with a sexy accent. A stranger who looks like she’s even taller than Lindsey in heels that she absolutely rocks and that Lindsey would trip over. A stranger whose hands are on Emily’s shoulders, and then her waist, and then her hips, and then her ass. A stranger who Emily is grinding up against slightly, hair that she finally agreed to wear down tousled. A stranger who’s looking at Emily in some type of way that Lindsey hates, looking at her with possession. 

Emily doesn’t belong to this random woman. 

But she’s looking at her with hooded eyes and laughing raspily so maybe now she does.

Mal and Rose catch up, yelling Lindsey’s name loudly. Very loudly, because nothing they ever do is subtle. And that’s what finally snaps Lindsey out of her own little bubble and Emily out of whatever world she’s sucked into with _ whoever _ she’s with. 

If Lindsey didn’t feel oddly sick before, she does when Emily looks right into her eyes. 

They’re wide open now, like she’s been caught doing something that she wasn’t supposed to. And it’s not something that’s incredibly private, there’s literally crowds of people around them, but Lindsey still feels like she’s invading.

Like she’s not supposed to be here, to see this, for whatever reason. _ Something _doesn’t sit right, and Lindsey wishes that she could close her eyes, count to ten, and be back in her hotel room watching whatever good is on the TV. Emily would be right next to her, instead of here dancing with someone else. She’d be on the same bed even though there’s one more, almost hidden beneath her hoodie, scrolling on her phone. 

But Lindsey can’t just count to ten and have everything disappear. 

So she does the next best thing. She just turns around and walks away. Ten steps at a time.

At about step twenty five, Mal, Rose, Sam and Kelley are by her side, but Lindsey isn’t paying attention to what they’re saying. 

She’s looking back, trying to see if Emily is there looking for her too.

\---

Lindsey waits for Emily on a bench on the outskirts of the festival, the music and dancing softer now, more tolerable. Kelley, Sam, Mal, and Rose are long gone, deciding to go back to the hotel about half an hour ago, but she decided to hang back and stay so Emily wouldn’t have to walk alone. It’s become a habit, a buddy system built up over the years.

She doesn’t know what time it is and she’s scared that if she looks at her phone it would tell her that it isn’t even late. Because it means more time in between with Emily, more time before sleep and coffee in the morning can reset all of the weirdness that transpired and the pit in Lindsey’s stomach that kept persisting, like it usually does. That’s become an unfortunate habit too.

(Lindsey remembers when she cried at Emily’s apartment after getting back together with Russel. She still doesn’t know why. It was something about how sudden it was, how he said that he regretted everything, how Emily made them dinner. It took a lot of nights and morning coffees to erase _ that _weirdness.)

She’s watching people make their way through the streets, stumbling from the more crowded areas. There’s a couple laughing loudly, walking so that they lean slightly into each other at all times. That makes the sinking feeling worse, for some reason, so Lindsey looks away.

Some other people are drunk. Lindsey feels like she’s drunk. Lindsey wishes she were actually drunk. Maybe that would distract from the fact that nothing nothing feels real anymore. They’re in France. They’re at the World Cup. They’re at a rave that Rose insisted wasn’t one but it was. But those aren’t even the things that’s bothering Lindsey so much, and that’s troubling. That’s indicative of something _ deeper _. 

So Lindsey takes the increasingly rare moment during this World Cup whirlwind when she’s alone to just breathe. To pause and think about things, one at a time, over and over again. And over and over again, just to make sure. Even though she’s never truly sure.

Lindsey knows that she’s a slow decision maker. She takes her time to look at everything, to take a step back and see everything in its own place. But she’s fast to notice.

Despite what Emily might think, she notices all of the stares, the smiles, the lingering hands. She notices how Emily stays when she doesn’t need to, how Emily says things she doesn’t have to, how Emily gives Lindsey things that Lindsey doesn’t need. Things Lindsey doesn’t deserve. 

Because Lindsey doesn’t deserve having Emily by her side no matter what. And Emily doesn’t deserve to be strung along like Lindsey knows that she’s doing. Because Emily has real _ feelings _ invested, feelings that Lindsey doesn’t want to hurt. 

And Lindsey has nothing. 

That _ nothing _ is scary and exciting and makes Lindsey’s heart race and her brain to stop working. There’s no expectations. Lindsey doesn’t have to overthink every choice, and she doesn’t. She’s free to make whatever reckless decisions she wants and she knows that it’s shitty but it’s _ fun, _and that can distract her for awhile from how terrible it feels. 

(That hits later, gnawing at Lindsey’s heart until the next time Lindsey pushes their weird line and gets that same rush.)

It’s fun to flirt and be flirted with. It’s friendly. Platonic. There’s no meaning to it. Nothing at all.

Lindsey and her boyfriend, however, have _ something _. Mean something. Something that is commitment, devotion, habits that have built up that they do just because they feel like they have to. They’ll break up and then kiss and make up and break up again and it’s their little thing. That quirk that every couple has. Stable in its instability. Safe.

Emily might ground her. But she also makes Lindsey do and say and think things that she’s never done before. 

(It’s not Emily that scares Lindsey. It’s Lindsey that scares Lindsey. The Lindsey that she turns into around Emily.)

Lindsey knows all of it but she doesn’t know what to do with it. It overwhelms her, all of the ‘what if’s and ‘so what’s and ‘if then’s. All of the possibilities. The possibility of staying with Russel. The possibility of Emily making a move. The possibility of Lindsey making a move. The specific possibility of choosing and being _ wrong _.

So Lindsey chooses to do nothing. Lose nothing, gain nothing. Everything stays the same and it might not be comforting, but it’s familiar and safe. 

But even now, Lindsey is questioning her decisions because nothing feels safe. With all of the lingering feelings of jealousy in her stomach, the French streets, being alone, it feels like she’s on the edge of something obscured and looking down into the abyss.

(It feels familiar, though. It feels like her time at PSG. Lonely.)

Soon, she’s not alone. Lindsey looks up and sees the vague shape of Emily, hood pulled up. Something settles inside of Lindsey.

Emily slowly walks over to Lindsey, looking down at the ground as if she’s unsure. Lindsey is hit with another round of deja vu, because it reminds her of before they were friends. Before she had all these weird, dangerous feelings. Before she made impulsive decisions.

Lindsey stands up. “You ready to go?”

Emily nods, without looking up, “Yeah.” She’s biting her lip. 

It’s slightly cooler as they start to walk, the usual humidity traded in for a breeze. The French-style apartments on the street are emanating a soft yellow light, along with the flickering streetlights. The lighting helps Lindsey see Emily’s freckles, like stars scattered on her slightly red cheeks.

Maybe it’s that that keeps Lindsey from thinking straight, because she can’t stop herself from saying, “So you had some fun tonight, huh? We missed you.”

The '_I _missed you’ goes unsaid.

“What do you mean?” Emily asks. They both know she’s playing dumb, and the lack of a cheeky grin on Emily’s face should be a cue for Lindsey to stop.

There’s always something on Emily’s face. Some little (or big) hint as to what’s going on inside. Lindsey can spot them right away. But there’s nothing there. It’s blank.

“I saw you with that girl, good for you man!”

Emily gives a hollow chuckle, “Yeah, I guess.”

“So, who was she?”

“I don’t know.” Emily won’t look at her. 

Lindsey’s pretending not to know why.

There are too many things Lindsey knows. Like how she knows why this walk back to the hotel feels so long. Like how she knows why the bite in her voice sounds so _ cold _. Like how she knows why there’s a bite in her voice at all. 

She knows but it doesn’t feel like she’s doing it herself, like she’s only vaguely aware. It’s like a different person took over her body and Lindsey is watching from afar. Lindsey is watching herself to turn into an ugly monster of a feeling she can’t place. 

(And she knows that she’s just pretending not to know what it is. It’s so animalistic, so humiliating that it’s banished to the deep part of her brain, a part she can’t think about, only feel.)

She can’t hold it back - scratch that, she can’t hold anything back, and now Lindsey’s out of control and usually Emily is there to stop her but now she’s the one who’s causing it.

So she says, “I didn’t know that you’re interested in romance now. Must be that French air.”

“I’m not,” Emily says, and her voice hitches in a way that Lindsey can’t help but notice, even if she’s trying not to notice anything. She coughs a little, “And that didn’t count as romance.”

“Okay,” Lindsey responds, and winces at how bitchy it sounds.

She takes a chance and dares to glance over at Emily. She’s chewing her lip, brows furrowed. Emily has never been good at hiding what she’s feeling, and now is no different. She looks frustrated. Angry. She’s half kicking the sidewalk, hunched over, hands presumably balled up in her sweatshirt pocket.

A sweatshirt that Emily would usually give to Lindsey in a heartbeat. Lindsey wants her to. It’s cold. 

Emily’s voice is colder, though, and she says exasperatedly, “I don’t know why you’re so hung up on this.”

The way she knows what Lindsey is feeling is scarier than what Lindsey knows is coming next. 

(The way Lindsey doesn’t know the answer, though, might be the scariest. That’s the only thing she doesn’t know. The only thing she can’t figure out. _ Why. _)

“I don’t know what you mean,” she says, because she at least has to _ try _and deny it. 

“Yes, you do.”

And Lindsey looks at Emily again and automatically regrets it. Because Emily hasn’t really looked at her for the whole walk and now, the full power of her eyes that Lindsey has always stared at to try and figure out exactly what color they are, is too much. The way her eyebrows furrow like they’re trying to keep herself from crying is too much. This whole night has been too much.

Then Emily looks away, as if it’s too much for her too. Maybe it is.

A voice tells Lindsey that it probably is. That voice makes Lindsey feel guilty. So guilty.

Emily opens her mouth, and then closes it. It’s taking her an unusually long time to talk. 

Lindsey takes a deep breath just as Emily does as well. She hates how in sync they are.

All Lindsey can hear is the sound of their footsteps, the occasional car, and the sound of her own heartbeat. The moon isn’t full, but nearly, a little sliver of it is missing. It feels a little too cold, a little too crisp for the summer.

Lindsey waits for Emily to say something, anything. She knows it’s coming. She wants to get it over with, so this night can be quickly filed away inside Lindsey’s mind and they won’t ever talk about it.

That’s one thing that’s guaranteed. They never talk about it. 

“You don’t own me, Lindsey,” Emily finally says, quietly, more to herself than anything. Lindsey almost doesn’t hear it. She wishes she didn’t. 

The guilt is doubling now, flooding her insides. Lindsey’s trying desperately to keep it at bay.

She can't do it all by herself, though, and waits for a response, an excuse, to come to her aid. Waits for anything at all to come to her. But there's nothing there. It’s completely quiet. Somehow it’s still too much. 

The silence is deafening. 

When they finally get back to the hotel and Lindsey fumbles with the key card to their shared room, it’s all silent. When they shower, brush their teeth, turn off the lights, and climb into their respective beds, it’s all silent. When Lindsey wakes up and sees Emily’s body curled inward, facing Lindsey, it’s silent. 

And because Lindsey is a creature of habit, she smiles.

And then, once the initial haze of waking up is gone, her body seems to remember. Because out of habit, deep in her stomach, she feels a churn. She feels sick. 

She feels scared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew! how did yall like lindsey's pov?
> 
> also, ik this fic is already inspired by self control by frank ocean, but extra special shout out to sonnett's playlist. idk whats going on, but its great for being in your feelings!


	4. could we make it in, do we have time?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lindsey and Emily win the World Cup.

Lindsey hasn’t done this since she was nineteen. 

She’s in pajamas, freshly showered, holding candy, knocking on Tobin’s hotel room door. It’s crazy how much has changed. It’s crazy how much has stayed the same. 

The universe works in weird ways.

It feels sort of fitting, being in France, feeling like she’s on the precipice of a new era. Both with the team, and with herself. 

(She can’t decide which she’s more scared of. That’s not good. They’re at the fucking World Cup. And Lindsey’s here worried about friendship problems.)

Tobin finally opens the door, after what feels like years. Lindsey automatically relaxes every muscle that she didn’t know was tensed. 

Tobin just does that. If not for the aggressively chill vibes Tobin exudes off the field that somehow force everyone else to relax, it would be how Tobin has been there for Lindsey, always. Since Lindsey was a teen. Even when Lindsey didn’t know Tobin personally and just idolized her from afar.

When Lindsey texted Tobin, Tobin automatically responded. Even though things have been extremely hectic, even though Tobin never seems to have her phone on her, even though they haven’t done this in years. Tobin’s steady, like a rock. 

Definitely steadier than Mal, Rose, Sam, and Kelley. Lindsey loves them, she really does, but ever since _ that _night they’ve been walking on eggshells around her and Emily, always raising eyebrows and giving each other looks. Lindsey can’t figure out why.

Speaking of Emily, Tobin’s maybe even steadier for Lindsey than her.

Which is useful, especially now.

“Hey,” Tobin says, in her classic low voice. She always seems so _ unbothered _ by everything. Lindsey wishes she could be like that. Relaxed. Cool. Composed. 

(Instead, she’s going crazy at every odd look that Emily sneaks her.)

But she can’t, so Lindsey just forces the gummy bears into Tobin’s arms and pushes past her in the doorway to flop dramatically onto the bed with a heaving sigh, face buried in the pillows. The TV is already turned on to Vampire Diaries. Lindsey is very thankful for Netflix.

This feels so very _ high school _. Never mind that Lindsey doesn’t really know what that means.

Lindsey never really did high school. She kind of just skipped over it, bypassed it for her dreams and ambitions. She never joined her school’s soccer team, never went to prom because she had a game, never dated around the high school pool. All she’d think about was soccer, all she’d talk about was soccer. In retrospect, it was probably kind of annoying. Sometimes, she remembers the giant Messi shrine that was her room, and wants to die a little. She’s grateful she didn’t fool around in high school, or at least not in her room. She’s not sure what would’ve happened with Messi’s multiple faces staring down at whoever she brought in.

(She didn’t do college either, but that was by choice. There was no Messi shrine in a dorm room. She was too busy growing up too fast in Paris. She didn’t have time to decorate her tiny Parisian apartment she shared with someone she barely knew with posters.)

Maybe that’s why they started these sleepovers. Two Americans in Paris, two kids who missed out on being kids. Playing catch-up together.

Through the pillow, Lindsey can feel Tobin’s weight on the bed next to her. She’s dug into the candy already, and Lindsey can hear loud chewing over the soft white noise of the TV. 

Lindsey peeks out from the pillows to see Tobin obliviously watching Vampire Diaries, happily shoveling gummy bears into her mouth. Lindsey sits up and grabs some from the bag.

“Hey!”

She throws one at Tobin, who bats it away. Lindsey missed this. 

“So,” Tobin says.

“So,” Lindsey mimics. 

Tobin scratches her neck, and looks off to the side.

“What’s up?” Tobin finally settles on saying. It’s said so matter of fact, so _ Tobin _-like. 

Lindsey can’t help it. She bursts out laughing.

It’s a little bit of how they haven’t done this in years and Tobin says ‘what’s up?’. It’s a little bit of how they’ve been sitting there for about 5 v minutes, and how they saw each other literally an hour ago because being on the World Cup road really forces you to spend unwanted time with your teammates. Or one particular teammate.

It’s mostly how there’s just _ so much _and Lindsey doesn’t even know how to begin to answer that question. 

It’s sad. It’s confusing. It’s absolutely hilarious.

“What’s up?” Lindsey asks through tears in her eyes, uncontrollably giggling, “Really?”

“What’s wrong with that?” Tobin asks dumbly. She looks more confused than anything, and it makes Lindsey laugh harder.

“What’s up!” Lindsey exclaims.

“Okay fine, I won’t talk then,” Tobin pouts.

“No!” Lindsey says. She’s wiping away tears, taking in deep breaths to calm down. She feels delirious. 

Tobin’s the first person since Emily to make Lindsey laugh like that in a while. 

(Lately, Lindsey can’t stop finding absolutely everything Emily says hilarious. She wants it to stop, but she doesn’t remember if it’s been happening for a while or if she just started to notice. In any case, Emily notices. She can make Lindsey stop with the stare she gives her when Lindsey turns away.

Thinking about it now makes Lindsey stop laughing.)

“Okay, then what do you want me to say?” Tobin asks, exasperatedly. 

Lindsey sighs and lays back down onto the bed, “I don’t know.” 

Tobin finally gets a clue, and her face turns serious. She lays down right next to Lindsey, and turns so she’s facing her.

“Linds, you know you can talk to me, right?”

Lindsey smiles sheepishly, “Yeah, I know.”

Tobin nods and ruffles Lindsey’s hair, like she’s a little kid, but retracts her hand in disgust when she realizes Lindsey’s hair is still wet. She wipes it on Lindsey’s arm. Lindsey hits her with a pillow, and for now, that will distract her. Because Lindsey knows that Tobin’s waiting for her to make the first move.

But Lindsey doesn’t know how to start. She doesn’t even know what to talk about.

Not without sounding weird, at least. Because your best friend dancing with someone else for once isn’t something to freak out over. Not when it’s the World Cup. Not when Lindsey is literally dating someone else. 

(And not when Emily is seemingly no longer interested. Lindsey doesn’t know why that matters to her, but it does.)

Suddenly, Lindsey sits up, turns to Tobin and takes a deep breath, as if she’s about to dive into the ocean.

“When did you know when to make a move? On Christen?” 

Tobin sits up as well, and turns to Lindsey in surprise, like she didn’t expect her to actually do it. (Lindsey didn’t either. She hates how this _ thing _is making her act. Different. Reckless.)

Tobin sheepishly mumbles, “Uh, she actually made the first move.”

“No way!”

“Yeah, I was too chicken shit, I guess,” Tobin chuckles.

“Aw, Toby, that’s so cute.”

Tobin chuckles at the nickname, “Yeah, Chris is just. Different. I know that isn’t the best explanation. I’m not great with words like her. But you get what I mean.”

Different.

Lindsey roughly swallows down some gummy bears.

“No, what do you mean?” she asks and tries to play it off nonchalantly. 

“I guess I mean that, like. Usually I would make the first move. You know how I was kind of a player.” 

Lindsey nods. She remembers. 

“Then Christen came along, and I don’t know, everything was _ different _. I was doing things that I would have never done before. It felt, I don’t know, kind of weird, not being in control. I’m so happy that Christen was in control, or I don’t know what would’ve happened. You know?”

Lindsey knows. She _ knows _.

“Like you’re acting differently.”

“Yeah. I was scared that everything would change because it felt so weird, but once we got our shit together, everything fell into place. Like it was all worth it.”

Lindsey nods, but she’s not sure about that. She doesn’t really want to think about that stance too hard, though.

“You probably want to ask Christen for this stuff, I’m not that good at it,” Tobin says.

“No, this was really helpful. Thanks,” Lindsey says, and she’s serious. Even if it leaves her with even _ more _to digest. Even if there’s a feeling deep in her stomach that’s been going crazy ever since Tobin started her talk. 

Lindsey guesses that it’s probably the sugar hitting her.

“Really helpful, huh?” Tobin says with a proud look on her face.

“Don’t get too many ideas. It wasn’t _ that _good. Needs a little work on the phrasing.”

“Well, here’s my last piece of advice, because it’s_ so _helpful,” Tobin says. Lindsey rolls her eyes and takes another gummy bear.

“Don’t be a coward like I was. Because I don’t think Sonny’s going to do anything.”

Lindsey almost chokes.

“What? Why would you, I- I’m not, we aren’t-“

“C’mon Lindsey, don’t give me that shit. I’m not _ that _oblivious.”

It’s almost funny, how much Tobin’s missing. How oblivious she actually is.

(Maybe Lindsey’s the one that’s oblivious. Maybe Lindsey’s missing something. She pushes those thoughts to the side.)

“Just say it. She’s been waiting for so long. Tell her what you want.”

Lindsey takes another gummy bear. She bites its head off first, and then methodically bites off its arms and legs. Left to right, one by one. She’s patient like that. Logical. Or at least she thinks so. Maybe it’s just being slow.

“What if I don’t know what I want?” she says, carefully, after swallowing the gummy bears body. She reaches for another one, but can’t eat it. 

Tobin gives her a look, a look that means it’s _ Lindsey _who’s missing something, that she’s being a coward. It’s terrifying.

“You’ll know,” Tobin says, matter of factly, and leaves it at that.

\---

They win. They win the World Cup.

The whistle blows and Lindsey forgets everything and _ runs _.

She’s not sure if she even has a heartbeat. It might’ve stopped from beating itself to death during the last 10 minutes. Maybe the whole game.

She doesn’t know who she’s hugging, she just knows that it’s tight. It helps ground her, remind her that her dream since she was a child has happened. That she got there. It’s real. 

They _ won. _

She gets around to everyone. The trainers, the assistant coaches. Dawn, who gives Lindsey a warm embrace and ruffles her hair. Rose, who she is so fucking proud of, who she knew would be big. Huge. Mal, who’s sobbing and laughing and sobbing again. Sam, who’s just in shock. Lindsey can’t believe it either.

Soon, she feels a strong, wide back under her hands, and smells hotel shampoo and a hint of mint in blonde hair. Lindsey hates how she remembers it, could smell it from a mile away. 

How she misses the person it belongs to. Emily.

Emily leans into the hug, her head resting right below Lindsey’s. Lindsey must not be thinking because she leans her own head into Emily’s. 

They won the World Cup. She doesn’t have time to think about how they’re too close. That they haven’t done this in days. Days that felt like eons, nights in their shared room that felt like years.

But old habits die hard, and Lindsey pulls back, eyes looking away, scared of the chance that Emily will also realize that this is a mistake. That she’ll see the same face that she saw at that dance festival. That she’ll see the same face she always saw from before they were friends. From before they were best friends. 

The face she’s been seeing a lot more lately. 

But there’s something else there. Something familiar.

Emily’s smiling. Her classic ‘Sonnett soft smile’. Actually, she’s positively glowing; there’s a little dimple in her right cheek, and her eyes are crinkled at the ends. Her cheeks are flushed red, dusted with light freckles that have become more prevalent over the past month. Not that Lindsey noticed.

It’s a smile that Lindsey has seen a million times before, a smile that _ everyone _ has seen a million times before. 

But there, in that moment, it feels like that smile is for Lindsey. And Lindsey only. 

It wraps Lindsey up, almost as if they were still hugging. It’s warm. It’s _ safe. _

It’s funny how Lindsey can suddenly feel her pulse again. How she no longer feels like she’s floating. How much Emily’s hands on her shoulders and eyes looking right at her helps.

Emily says softly, whispers almost, a raspy reminder of nights they would stay up, and of late night bus rides after elated victories, “We did it, Linds.” 

Lindsey can’t help but realize that Emily’s voice sounds like Lindsey’s past, present, and future all at once.

And Lindsey’s heart catches in her throat and she thinks. _ Oh. _

It’s like Emily has enveloped her completely, seeping into Lindsey’s bloodstream, coating her lungs. Lindsey feels high. She feels rooted to the ground. She’s feeling everything at once. 

She’s feeling like she just won the World Cup and had one of the biggest revelations of her life.

She feels _ love. _

So she says, almost dumbly, “We did it, Em.”

And Lindsey didn’t know it was possible, but Emily smiles even wider. 

She glances at Emily’s lips. They’re chapped, because Emily borrows Lindsey’s chapstick all the time and lately, she hasn’t gotten the chance. Lindsey knows how Emily probably was biting her lips like crazy. She wonders what it would be like to kiss those lips, dry or not. She wonders if that’s the first time she thought that. 

She glances back to Emily’s eyes. They’re blue, she decides firmly, for the first time. Cloudy like Portland rain, but blue. 

But Emily’s eyes are looking away, past Lindsey, and her megawatt smile dims a little. It’s muted, resigned. Still just as soft.

“You might want to check on your man, he’s been trying to get your attention for a while,” she chuckles.

Lindsey whips her head around and sees Russel, in her jersey, waving his hands around and calling her name by the edge of the stands. She almost forgot that he was here.

(Is that what’s supposed to happen?)

She forces a laugh and awkwardly separates herself from Emily, disentangling their arms. Her shoulders feel cold now. The rest of her body feels hot, specifically her cheeks. She waves goodbye to Emily, who’s giving her a thumbs up. Lindsey turns around and waves to Russel, resisting the urge to look back to see if Emily is still there. Checking if Emily is still there has become a bad habit.

Moments later, when she kisses Russel in the stands in front of all the cameras, the numbness returns and she can’t feel anything at all. Actually, that's not true. What she feels is strangely normal, sobered up almost. Like kissing him has become like a bad habit, too. 

It feels like she’s waiting for something. She wants it to hurry up.

\---

Lindsey’s sober now. 

(Mostly.)

This might be the first time that Lindsey has felt _ good _ after a party. She feels satisfied, a hunger that she didn’t know she was carrying with her throughout the month dissipated. She's calm. Content.

They’re on the plane back. The noise and screams have been replaced in Lindsey’s ears by the steady hum of the airplane, the bright flashing lights replaced by a faded night. Everyone’s asleep. Pinoe still has her sunglasses on. Sam is taking up a whole row. Tobin and Christen are in the back, peacefully leaning on each other. 

Emily is next to her, leaning her head on her shoulder. Her mouth is slightly open, her hair messed up and strands blowing in front from her soft breaths. Lindsey loves looking at Emily when she’s asleep. She looks innocent. Small. Like Lindsey could cradle her in her arms.

It almost feels like things are getting back to normal.

(It’s scary how fast Lindsey has taken this _ thing _in stride. How much hasn’t changed. 

She’s not going to worry about that now, though. She won the fucking World Cup. Exceptions can be made.) 

Lindsey brushes the hair from Emily’s face. She might’ve brushed her cheek as well because Emily startles awake. Lindsey jerks her hand back.

So maybe things aren’t as normal.

Emily blinks sleepily, and looks up at Lindsey, a soft smile playing on her face. Her head doesn’t move an inch, and they’re dangerously close. Lindsey can feel her breath on her neck. This is like any other bus ride back, late at night. But something changed. Lindsey’s heart beats rapidly.

She has yet to decide if it’s good or bad.

“Lindsey,” Emily whispers. 

“Yes, Sonny?”

“We won,” she whispers, like Lindsey is the first person she told a secret to. She’s smiling proudly. 

“We did.”

Emily nods. Lindsey can tell that she’s still a little drunk, either off of alcohol or winning or sleep. 

(Maybe it’s _ love, _Lindsey thinks. Selfishly, it makes her feel less worried.)

“You’re so pretty. Do you know that?” Emily suddenly asks. Her face is scrunched up, worried that Lindsey doesn’t. It’s cute. Emily’s always been cute.

“No, I don’t think I do,” Lindsey says, feeling a smile tug at her lips.

“Well, you are,” Emily says, and says it with such force, such authority on the matter. 

Well, isn’t she the authority of the matter? Hasn’t she been waiting for so long? 

Lindsey can’t think about that now. What these new feelings might mean. For her. For Emily. Even for _ Russel _ , who Lindsey very nearly forgot about, who she’s been in a relationship with for years, who’s on a plane of his own back to Colorado, back to her hometown, where everything stays the same. Where everything _ should _stay the same.

But now they’re up in the air, flying over the ocean. Nothing is set in stone.

Just like the color of Emily’s eyes, which Lindsey swears are now a dark, muddy, grayish blue, the color of the night sky. Just like Emily’s lips, which are now less chapped, slightly wet from Emily licking them. They probably taste like champagne and beer. Like victory.

“Linds,” Emily says. Lindsey realizes that she’s been staring. She swallows dryly.

“Em?”

“Can I kiss you?” 

Lindsey’s heart stops beating.

And Emily looks so innocent, staring up at her, asking for permission plainly. Lindsey doesn’t want that. Lindsey doesn’t deserve that. 

Never had she expected Emily to be this forward. Never had Emily been this forward back in Portland, back in camps, back in hotel rooms. Back in places she probably could’ve made a move, now that Lindsey thinks about it. 

It’s the World Cup. It’s France. It’s what happened in Rennes, it’s what happened in Paris.

(It’s what’s happening right now. It’s a phase, Lindsey can’t stop thinking. It’ll pass. Lindsey just needs more _ time _. Time to test the waters. Lindsey doesn’t know what it’s like to drown. She thinks that it can’t feel too good.)

“Let’s wait until the morning,” Lindsey decides.

“Hm?” Emily mumbles. She must’ve drifted off. Lindsey must’ve been thinking for a while.

“I said, let’s wait.”

As Lindsey says it more, she grows more and more unsure. Maybe she doesn’t need time. Maybe she just needs to just choose. Maybe she needs Emily to choose for her. 

But Emily is fast asleep. Lindsey sighs. It’s decided.

She’ll wait until the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have a less angsty chapter before shit goes down!


	5. i made you use your self control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lindsey and Emily go to Utah.

Lindsey never used to be scared of plane rides. She never used to feel nausea as the plane tilted upwards and started to rumble. Her ears never used to pop as the plane rose steadily into the sky. 

She grew up in _ Denver _ for God’s sake, altitude shouldn’t bother her.

But now, on this flight from Portland to Utah, she feels oddly sick. 

She thinks it’s been living in Portland, and not spending enough time at home. She’s become a coast girl, a Pacific northwesterner, a hipster. She’s become someone who drinks kombucha and eats avocado toast. She’s become someone whose ears pop on the plane. 

She’s become someone who almost kisses their best friend. 

The old Lindsey would want to go back home as soon as possible, tired from all of the World Cup buzz and the NWSL season already. The new Lindsey’s just as tired, but she doesn’t want to go home anymore. At least not as much, which should make Lindsey feel a little bit guilty but it doesn’t. There’s something else pulling her elsewhere.

Funny, how she lies to herself by saying ‘something else’. She knows exactly who it is.

At least, _now _she does. Things don’t feel any less confusing, however. Knowing why hasn’t magically solved her problems like she thought and hoped that it would. They just feel messier. Just like her breakup with Russel. That had been because of Emily too, but she didn’t say it. 

(Lindsey knows that she didn’t have to. If there’s one thing she hates about it, it’s that he was right. He always liked being right.)

To be fair, it wasn’t _ all _because of Emily. It was also how she didn’t feel anything anymore. Literally. Certainly not love, which she thinks hasn’t been there for a while, but also anger. Sadness. Habits that she used to be fine with became tedious. Their fights never riled her up like they used to. When they argued, she just felt tired. 

(With Emily, she doesn’t have that problem. That newly realized contrast was the most prominent push to finally ending things. Because with Emily, she feels everything.)

Lindsey hates how lately, familiarity feels less and less like a synonym for safety. 

Take now, for example. It reminds her, strangely, of the plane ride from Paris to New York. _ The _plane ride, as she now thinks of it. There’s not much similar between the two scenarios, but Lindsey just feels it. It might be the silence that they share.

One of the constants is that Emily is next to her again. She’s always next to Lindsey. But unlike _ the _plane ride, she’s not fast asleep. She’s on her phone, purposely avoiding Lindsey’s gaze and her arms and legs are tucked in, avoiding Lindsey’s touch. It makes Lindsey’s heart ache.

It’s not her fault. Lindsey’s been avoiding her too. 

It’s because of all the little things. How touching Emily has suddenly become so much more meaningful. How wearing Emily’s pink sweatshirt that she somehow has in her closet feels weird in ways it never used to be. How she can’t listen to some songs on her playlist without being reminded of Emily. 

Lindsey can’t be around Emily without doing something stupid. 

It’s not that she didn’t do stupid things with Emily before. It’s just so much more noticeable now. Whatever she feels for Emily has just become a glaring problem, no matter what she does. It blinds her. Suffocates her.

She’s hesitant to call _ it _ love. This has all happened too fast for Lindsey’s taste. It might be nothing more than a crush that she can wait out until the friendship can go back to whatever it was. 

(On second thought, maybe it shouldn’t go back. Their friendship was never normal, now that Lindsey sees everything for what it was. Lindsey would like to find out what their normal friendship would be like. She doesn’t know if she’s ready to give the old friendship up, though. It was nice. She wishes they still did that. For some reason, they made a mutual decision to stop.)

She looks over at Emily, who is focused on curating a new playlist. Lindsey always loved how serious she gets about them, always talking about the “vibe” and the “flow” and how “important it is, Lindsey”. Sometimes, a bit selfishly, she wonders if some of the songs Emily adds on there are because of her. 

Now, Lindsey just wonders if Emily feels the same deja vu, if Emily feels just as uncomfortable in this silence. 

Of course, that would depend on Emily remembering what she asked Lindsey that night. And Lindsey doesn’t have the balls to ask that. It’s obvious that if Emily does remember, she doesn’t have the balls to do anything either. They’re stuck in this limbo, this dance. Not the dances that Emily does, though. Those slow, awkward ones where you barely touch the other.

Sometimes, Lindsey wonders what it would be like if they stopped thinking so much.

So she decides to try it out by taking a nap, leaning her head on the window. Maybe that will calm her nerves. Maybe she’ll wake up well rested. Maybe her ears will have less issues with the altitude.

But when she wakes up, she finds that her head has somehow ended up on top of Emily’s, who’s completely still and closing her eyes. Lindsey knows that she’s not asleep. Emily never naps during plane rides, she says it messes with her schedule, but the small gesture makes Lindsey’s heart race, even though they’ve done it hundreds of times. 

So much for calming down.

—-

They’re getting ready in the locker room, speaker blasting. Various Thorns are dancing, like Midge and Kelli and shockingly, Kling, but Emily is noticeably absent. That’s been more and more common these days.

Instead, she’s tying her knots, her classic three knots. She’s concentrating hard, and Lindsey admires her stubborn devotion to the bunny-ear method, even as it’s failing her now. Her tongue pokes out a little as she struggles.

Emily must’ve felt Lindsey’s eyes on her, because she abandons her knots, looks up, and smiles. A soft one. 

Lindsey smiles back. She thinks it looks more manic than soft, like she’s clingy.

Emily asks her something, yelling it to her over the loud sounds of whatever song that Lindsey doesn’t recognize is playing. It’s not one of Emily’s additions, that’s for sure. Lindsey has to take out her airpods to hear her.

“Is Russel coming?” Emily asks.

Lindsey wishes she just nodded and laughed, like she usually does when she doesn’t hear the question, instead of freezing up suddenly.

Shit.

Lindsey forgot that she conveniently forgot to tell Emily.

Before Lindsey can quickly formulate a lie, Caitlin interjects with, “No, unless he wants to get his ass kicked!” Lindsey also wishes that her friends didn’t support her this much.

“What, why?” Emily looks confused, eyebrows making small little squiggly lines on her face. Lindsey would normally think that it’s cute. Now she’s panicking.

“They broke up, duh?” Ellie says, looking at Emily as if she was stupid. Emily ignores her and looks to Lindsey instead, asking a soft question with her eyes and the curve of her mouth. She looks concerned.

Lindsey didn’t want to tell her for a reason. But life doesn’t work out that way, does it?

“Yeah. We did.”

“When?” Emily asks softly. Lindsey can only tell that she’s saying that by reading her lips.

“Uh, two weeks ago maybe?”

“You didn’t tell me?” It sounds vaguely accusatory, all of the softness gone, and Lindsey feels sick. And not because of pre-game nerves.

“Sorry, I forgot,” Lindsey says, shrugging. She’s trying to play it off, play it cool. They both know that Lindsey would never forget, but maybe if she sells it enough Emily will believe her.

Emily nods, mouth pressed into straight line, like she understands but doesn’t believe her. She ties the last knots firmly, and then stands up to walk to the tunnel. Lindsey is left feeling guilty. Again.

Once they’re on the pitch, Lindsey looks for Emily to do their handshake, some semblance of a peace offering. Because Lindsey feels bad. This whole game feels bad and it hasn’t even started yet, but maybe the handshake will lift her mood again. But Emily’s not looking her way. Emily looks angry. 

She plays angry too. Lindsey can only watch in slow motion as Christen goes down to the ground, as the whistle blows, and as Emily runs back quickly while they set up the free kick. 

Christen, the angel that she is, smiles brightly at Emily, even though Emily took her down wrestling style. Usually, Emily would give Christen a wink and a thumbs up, or even just the smallest of smiles. 

And usually, Emily would be laughing about it in the locker room after half time. Usually, she’d be right there in the mix of people, giving pep talks and high fives. Lindsey expected her to be raving about Becky’s goal or annoying Tobin about her foul on Christen.

Instead, she’s sitting in her locker, headphones on and concentrating on her phone. Lindsey wonders if she’s listening to the playlist she was making on the plane. Usually, Lindsey would think she’s looking at gifs of the game, but based on the fact that Emily’s not smiling, Lindsey doesn’t think that that’s the case. 

And Lindsey would usually be there to comfort her, in those rare times that Emily gets worked up over a bad half. But she can’t help by feel like this is her fault. It’s her fault Emily got that yellow, it’s her fault that Christen almost got hurt, and it’s her fault that they’re losing.

She’s kind of scared that Emily will tell her so if she goes over there.

She feels a hand on her shoulder, and turns to see Tobin, looking concerned. 

“You good, kid?”

Lindsey just manages a nod.

“We’ll get ‘em next half. I’ll be looking for you, just do what you do best.”

Lindsey wants to tell her that it’s not that. At least mostly. That’s just another small part of her long list of recent screwups. 

Tobin obliviously goes on, “By the way, do you know what’s up with Sonny? She hasn’t made one single joke to me about Christen.”

Lindsey chuckles dryly, retying her hair, “No, she hasn’t told me if anything’s wrong, but I’ll make that joke on her behalf if you’d like.”

Tobin looks at her, suddenly serious. If Lindsey didn’t get why people were scared shitless to go against Tobin before, she’d get it now.

“What’s up with you guys, then? Anything wrong?”

God, if _ Tobin _ can notice it, it must be really obvious. 

(Or in the more likely case, Christen told her to ask.)

Lindsey heaves a sigh, and stands up, tightening her ponytail. “Everything’s fine. Everything’s great and good,” she says firmly. She resists the urge to give a thumbs up. 

Well, it turns out that nothing is great. Not even good, and definitely not fine. 

Rather than happening in slow motion, like the foul on Christen, the second foul happens in the blink of an eye and then way too quickly, everything is different and messy and confusing. Before Lindsey knows it, the whistle blows, the red is shown, and Amy is getting up and yelling at Emily. Lindsey finds herself sprinting full speed towards them. 

Emily looks like a puppy with its tail tucked between its legs. She looks like a small child being yelled at by their mother. She looks a little shocked, very confused, and completely powerless. Lindsey half expected her to fight back just as much as Amy. She’s not sure if this is better or worse.

For what Amy is saying, Lindsey doesn’t blame her. She only catches the last part of it. Something about Emily being brainless, about the World Cup, about Tokyo. It makes Lindsey so furious, so reckless, like she’s soaking up all of the emotions _ Emily _should be feeling and taking it on herself.

It makes her feel that feeling that she felt back in Rennes, the night of the dance with the crushing people and bright lights. That dirty, shameful feeling that she feels again now in the crushing people and bright lights, while trying desperately to get to Emily somehow.

It took a while, but Lindsey has a word for it now. 

Possessiveness.

She’s able to catch Emily before she exits the pitch. Emily’s not looking at her, but Lindsey leaves a hand lingering on her waist as she pushes through to get to Amy. She hopes Emily can tell what it means. She hopes that this can make up for it. Whatever it is. All of it.

In what seems like only seconds, Amy is standing by the ball, ready for the free kick. It occurs to Lindsey that Amy doesn’t know the magnitude of what she did. That Lindsey has done the same thing before and it’s _ still _ torturing her. But Amy probably doesn’t think much of it. It’s a game, why should she?

(A voice whispers in the back of Lindsey’s head, asking her why should _ she _ care? She ignores it.)

Emily rarely cries in front of others. She doesn’t cry after bad losses, after break ups, after sad movies. She doesn’t cry in front of Lindsey. She didn’t cry in Rennes, back on the walk to the hotel. She’s strong in a quiet way, covered up by all of the bravado and quips and noise. She’s always there to pick all the pieces back up and put them together with cartoon smiley-face band-aids. Now, Lindsey is broken, but so is Emily. Now, it’s _ Lindsey’s _job to fix it.

So Lindsey, for the first time in ages, doesn’t think.

—-

In Emily’s defense, she was unsupervised.

She didn’t mean to foul them. It just kind of happened. 

Of course, that doesn’t mean shit. It doesn’t mean anything for the scoreline, it doesn’t mean anything for Mark, and it doesn’t mean anything for herself. Because thanks to her, she’s leaving the team with just ten on the field when they’re losing, and now she can’t play in their next game against North Carolina. The referee doesn’t care if you meant to or not. 

Much like how Emily doesn’t care if Lindsey meant to ‘forget’ or not, meant to just stop interacting with her at all.

But that doesn’t mean shit either. Because Emily screwed up all by herself. In fact, she was avoiding Lindsey altogether, so Lindsey definitely has nothing to do with it. She doesn’t want Lindsey to have anything to do with it, because Lindsey is one of the best players on that field right now. She has too much at stake, more at stake than Emily.

Thankfully, Lindsey won’t screw up. That’s Emily’s job. Amy made that last part clear enough.

She keeps repeating that in her mind, like a mantra, or a prayer. At least, until she hears the crowd gasp and distract her. She turns around while halfway into the tunnel to vaguely see Lindsey, the referee holding a yellow card, and Amy on the ground. 

Emily feels like Lindsey pushed _ her _ to the ground, wind knocked right out of her.

Lindsey looks towards the tunnel, but Emily is too far away to see any emotion on Lindsey’s face. It just looks like a blob. 

So Emily turns back around and walks into the locker room. She’s going to take a long shower.

\---

Even as she’s the first one in the lockers, she’s the last one out. She’s taking her time, drying her hair methodically, tying her shoes over and over. 

Lindsey’s hanging back too, and Emily doesn’t know if it’s because she feels the same way or wants to talk to Emily. If it’s the latter, she’s not doing a very good job of it, because they’ve just been getting ready alone in silence.

Lately, silence has been awkward in a way it never was. It’s all been silence. Except for inside Emily’s brain, which has been angrily buzzing since they lined up for the game. It’s gotten louder and louder with every second.

Emily can’t take it anymore.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

More silence. Emily can see Lindsey choosing her words with a bite of her lip.

“You’re right, I didn’t,” she says calmly. It’s such a difference from the crowd, the manic energy of the game. Her own aggressiveness. Lindsey’s aggressiveness. 

“I had it under control. You just went and screwed it up,” Emily says, angrily redoing her bun. She’s tugging out the hair roughly. It hurts.

“Excuse me?”

“You didn’t have to push her. It had nothing to do with you. She was mad at _ me_,” Emily says. She’s not looking at Lindsey, instead focused down at the ground on her untied shoes. “I don’t need your protection.”

“Are you joking?”

Emily turns to face Lindsey fully for the first time. Her hair is wet and pushed back, and she’s wearing her black Balenciaga hoodie that Emily never dared to borrow because it looks so good on Lindsey. She even put her jewelry back on, gold chain peeking through the hood.

Even after that shit show of a game, Lindsey looks like the epitome of perfection. Of put-together-ness. She looks gorgeous and terrifying. Terrifyingly gorgeous. 

(Though her face is neutral, there’s a softness in her icy eyes. Like she’s pleading. It’s the only form of weakness that shines through.

Emily hates it.)

“No, I’m not, Lindsey! You didn’t have to involve yourself! You’re lucky you didn’t get a red!”

“Why are you acting like I did something wrong? That was for you, not for my own good,” Lindsey states, like it’s just a fact. Like it’s as simple as that.

Emily says exasperatedly, “Because you avoid me like the plague and then all of a sudden you push someone for me! You didn’t tell me that you broke up with Russel, you don’t talk to me anymore-“

“Neither do you,” Lindsey points out. 

“Because you started it!” Emily heaves, finally. She knows she looks crazy, her hair probably a mess and her clothes rumpled. She’s always been told that she’s too much. Always felt too hard, loved too deeply, wanted too much. 

She wants Lindsey to feel that way too. She hates how good Lindsey looks, calm and poised like nothing’s wrong. It makes Emily look childish and selfish and _ sensitive _. It makes it look like this isn’t a big deal, like it was just an everyday game like Lindsey didn’t push anyone. For Emily or not.

She wants Lindsey to go absolutely crazy, to show her that she feels it too. She got a taste of it before, she wants it to come out now. She wants Lindsey to fight her back, to give her something instead of the _ nothing _ that she’s been getting since France. She wants Lindsey to lose her self control for her.

She also really wants to cry, but nothing’s coming out. Her tears always tease her like that, always build up in her eyes but never spill out. She wants herself to lose that last bit of self control.

Mostly, she just wants it to not be silent. 

Maybe Lindsey’s sick of the silence too, because she yells, “God, does it matter? I’m sorry for avoiding you. I’m sorry for not telling you about the break up. But I’m not apologizing for pushing her. At least, not to you.”

There it is. Maybe Emily didn’t want that all along.

Emily defeatedly says, “I don’t need your apology.”

“Then what are you yelling at me for? What do you want? Tell me, so I don’t do anything I’m apparently not supposed to do!”

Emily doesn’t have an answer for her. 

“Why’s you do it, Linds?”

Lindsey hesitates before looking away and saying, “Because we’re friends.”

She’s lying. Emily knows that. She knows the exact tone of voice Lindsey uses when she lies, how she angles herself away. Sometimes, it feels like she knows too much about Lindsey.

“None of my other friends did that. You did. You stupidly risked the game on it, your reputation,” Emily says. Imagining Lindsey being ejected from the pitch and sitting out and watching from the sidelines at their next game gets her mad again. “God, it’s like you weren’t even thinking.”

“I wasn’t thinking? I’m not the one who got a red card!”

“You almost got one,” Emily retorts.

“But I didn’t, did I? You were the one who was playing recklessly.”

Emily knows it was true, but coming from Lindsey, it hurts a little more. It hurts more than Amy telling her so. It hurts more than turning around and seeing that bright red card. It hurts more than having to leave the pitch in shame.

“That was because of you!”

“How? How am I suddenly a part of this when I so clearly wasn’t before?” Lindsey asks, stepping forward. Emily steps back. She’s really tall. 

“I dunno! Just, why?” Emily asks, feeling tears pricking at her eyes. She blinks them back, knowing they’ll never leave otherwise. “Why all of this?”

It’s the question she’s been asking for years. When Lindsey got jealous back in France. When Lindsey touches her. When Lindsey stares at her for a little too long. When Emily first met Lindsey at camp.

When Emily thinks she knows something for sure but then Lindsey goes ahead and blows her mind anyways.

It’s silent again, but there’s a buzz underneath. A certain electricity. It’s as terrifying as it is invigorating. It’s kind of like the rush Emily felt before committing those fouls. She’s heaving, completely out of breath, and she briefly wonders if her breath smells okay, because she and Lindsey have gotten close. Really close.

Close enough that Emily can pick out the exact point Lindsey’s eyes go from light blue to dark blue. Close enough that Emily can see Lindsey’s dark circles, how they fade into flushed cheeks. Close enough that Emily can feel Lindsey’s hot breath on her face, causing the hairs on her arms and neck to stand up.

Close enough that somehow, they both lock eyes, and make a mutual decision in that split second. Close enough that they’re leaning in, becoming even closer. 

And then, they’re kissing. Just like that, like it’s simple.

And it feels so _ simple _. Like they should just stay like that, interlocking like puzzle pieces. It doesn’t happen too slow, like with Christen, it doesn’t happen too fast, like with Amy. It just happens and Emily feels like maybe this sets everything right again.

Lindsey’s hands are fumbling a bit awkwardly, settling on Emily’s hair, but even as it feels that Lindsey is unsure, their placement feels so purposeful. Emily is leaning up and into Lindsey, melting into her, and can feel her warmth radiating everywhere. Even though Emily feels hot everywhere, she’s shivering a bit.

Emily stops thinking, forgets that they’re supposed to be leaving soon, forgets the game. She stops thinking about her breath, her wet hair, her chapped lips. She stops thinking about how she’s wanted to do this for years, about teenage her imagining kissing Lindsey, about adult her imagining kissing Lindsey. Lindsey’s lips and hands are taking up every bit of space in her mind.

Lindsey’s lips are soft, like peaches and cream and like pillows and clouds. Her lips taste like the classic vanilla chapstick Emily used to borrow, chapstick that Emily would lick off because it tasted so good and would bother Lindsey to borrow it again. Now Emily knows what it feels to lick it off of someone else’s lips.

Most importantly, Lindsey’s lips are _ kissing _ Emily’s.

Fuck. They’re kissing her. 

It’s not simple, it’s complicated. 

They both pull back at the same time, gasping for breath. Lindsey’s blushing. She’s pushed up against a locker awkwardly, almost falling into it. She’s looking at her hands, like they’ve done something wrong. It was wrong. Emily’s stomach lurches.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she says. She feels more tears in her eyes. She feels like it was more of her own mistake.

Lindsey starts, fully standing, “_ I _ shouldn’t have done that? You-“

“Is this just to mess with me, Lindsey? Is that it? You break up with your boyfriend and then you decide to try out a new little _ thing _ before you get back together next week?”

“No, it’s not! Why are you even bringing Russel into this-“

“And now you kiss me out of the blue, after avoiding me-“

“You kissed back,” Lindsey says, her eyes growing dark. She’s towering over Emily now, and Emily fights back the only way she knows how. Through desperation, all or nothing, the final card.

“Of course I did, Lindsey!” Emily cries out, “And you knew that I would.”

There. That gets Lindsey to step back, to falter. The victory should feel good to Emily, but really she’s only thinking about how cold it is now and how warm it was before. 

“Why can’t you just believe that I wanted to do that? Why are you accusing me of wanting to hurt you?” Lindsey asks, flustered. 

“Because this is probably just some game to you, like it always was! Just like how pushing ARod was just a fun thing to do!”

“It isn’t, Em. It wasn’t,” Lindsey says, her voice wavering. Emily knows that she’s not lying but everything seems wrong anyways so she keeps going. 

“Do you know for sure?”

Lindsey hesitates. She’s looking at Emily, speechless, lips red and slightly parted. Emily’s instincts tell her to kiss them. 

But her instincts haven’t gotten her anything good today, so she decides against it.

Emily swallows hard, takes a deep breath and resets herself. The tears are gone now, replaced by a dull cold ache everywhere. She thinks that might just be her muscles tightening up. 

“Yeah. You know what, take your time to think. I’ll wait.”

Lindsey opens her mouth to say something, but then closes it. It seems like she’s waiting too. Emily doesn’t know what for. Lindsey packs up her things wordlessly and exits the locker room, leaving Emily alone. Alone with the silence.

Once Lindsey leaves fully, it takes Emily only one shaky breath to start crying, her choked up inhales taking up all the space in the empty locker room. The tears, big and fat and rolling off of her face, sort of burn. It’s surprising. Emily thought that they were gone.

It’s not silent anymore. 

(Emily got what she wanted, but it feels wrong. It leaves that taste in your mouth that you get after a big breakdown.)

Emily gets to the bus soon after splashing her face with cold water, pulling down her baseball cap, and deeming herself good enough to return. No one says anything about how she’s very late, like they would normally do. They’re silent, the pity that Emily hates in their eyes. Lindsey must’ve felt that same pity when she pushed Amy. 

(When she kissed Emily.)

Emily reaches the seat that she and Lindsey usually sit in, four from the back. Emily normally sits on the outside because she likes to hang her legs out into the aisle, and Lindsey on the inside because she likes to lean her head on the window. But Lindsey isn’t there. She’s sitting next to Caitlin, two rows back, and laughing like nothing happened. 

_ Nothing _ happened, Emily tells herself. She needs to get her head in the right place and prepare for the onslaught of personal questions that she knows is coming after this grace period is over. She needs to think about how to answer them with nonchalance and irreverence, with jokes that make everyone laugh and forget. She needs to think about how to answer the question of Lindsey.

She takes a deep breath and sits in the inside seat instead, curling up into the window. 

All of a sudden, it’s like their little routines have ceased to exist. All of their history has disappeared into the air. Everything has changed, and Emily can’t place a particular moment that caused it. It’s just different, like how they no longer touch each other. Like how they no longer see each other. Like how Lindsey apparently sits on the outside seat now with Caitlin, and Emily just sits alone. 

The worst part to Emily is that it’s become routine to her now, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phew this turned into a giant monster of a chapter and hope yall enjoyed it! could you tell that i was unsure of whether to use amy or arod bc arod just looks so ugly w the proper capitalization?
> 
> we're almost at the end!!! speaking of, i have approximately 1% written of the last chapter bc i have no clue how to end this so expect a very long wait :/ instead of writing the last chapter i have been writing literally every other idea that pops into my brain so there might be some new ones before i actually force myself to sit down and just write the stupid ending


	6. you made me lose my self control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily and Lindsey deal with the aftermath.

Emily knows that she’s not going to win the “Most Online Player” award this year. Rose can have it. She deserved it more last year anyways.

Because even as Emily knows that her online and real life reputation is crumbling around her, she can’t bring herself to care. It’s strange. She used to care too much and now there’s nothing there.

(She doesn’t care to see Lindsey post with Caitlin and Ellie constantly. She doesn’t care to see Lindsey in whatever outfits she has. She doesn’t care to comment dumb jokes on Lindsey’s posts like she used to, much less like them.)

So what if she deleted all social media? So what if she’s spending all of her offseason time in her Portland apartment? It’s fine. It’s self care. She’s been cooking a lot, working out some new vegan recipes that she’s found. She’s been taking care of her plants, namely Isabella, who requires quite a bit of attention. She’s having some time to herself. It’s been a crazy year. No one can deny that they would need the rest as well.

She’s _ not _ having some sort of weird breakdown like everyone seems to think. Like Tobin seems to think, asking her if she’s okay in her slightly concerned and very awkward way, complete with a dad-like pat on the shoulder. Like the most random people, like Sinc and Menges and Dagny and, actually, make that the entire Thorns team, seem to think. 

Like Kelley seems to think.

She told Kelley repeatedly that she’s fine and doesn’t need her to boss Emily around while she’s in Portland for a little while. And that Kelley doesn’t have to make reservations at a super nice restaurant. And that ‘you know, you can hang out with Tobin instead of me’. She didn’t expect Kelley to comply, now that she thinks of it. She didn’t know what to expect. 

And then Kelley responded with a simple ‘pick me up from the airport’, and now Emily is driving there despite herself, blasting her October playlist. (It is, admittedly, not a great driving playlist. It’s too sad.)

It’s not like she’s going to leave Kelley stranded.

But when Kelley screams and runs to bear hug her with all of her bags, Emily starts to have second thoughts.

“What’s up, Son? Missed me?” Kelley asks, affectionately ruffling her hair.

Emily groans and says, “Yes, Miss Kelley.”

Kelley smiles, “That’s what I like to hear. Now take me to the car, please. I have had a very long journey.”

“You came up from LA. It was three hours at most.”

Kelley just cackles as she hands Emily her bags, patting her on the back, hard. Actually, it’s more like slapping. It hurts a little. 

She cracks jokes all through their walk back to the car, and out of politeness, Emily lets herself laugh at them. She doesn’t follow up much, though, and it’s obvious that Kelley is struggling to think of new things to say with her silence. It’s better than Kelley trying to have a deep talk with Emily about her problems, she reasons. If Kelley is determined to make Emily have fun by distracting her with things to do, she can handle that. 

However, as Emily starts up the car and Kelley plugs the aux cord into her phone, Kelley turns to her and says, “Real talk though, Son. If you need me, I’m here.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Emily says a bit more harshly than she wanted to, eyes trained on the road.

“Really?” Kelley asks, and she presses something on her phone, music starts playing from the car speakers. “Because you have ‘My Person’ on your playlist.”

“It’s a good song-” 

Kelley continues, reading from her phone, “And ‘Drunk Enough to Say That I Love You’, and ‘Rumor’-”

“That’s not fair. You’re just cherry picking songs.”

Kelley gives her a look out of the corner of Emily’s eye. It’s scary. Emily sometimes forgets that Kelley can be incredibly intimidating when she wants to be. 

“What happened with Lindsey?”

“Nothing.”

“Sonnett, don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying. Nothing happened,” Emily says, swallowing roughly.

“Okay,” Kelley responds, less forcefully than before. She has the same tone of voice moms get when they’re waiting for their children to admit something. Emily’s not going to admit anything. 

Emily relaxes her hands on the wheel. She didn’t realize that they were gripping it so hard until she looked down and saw her knuckles turning white.

Once they come to a stop in traffic, Kelley puts her hand on Emily’s shoulder. Emily turns to look at Kelley, and rather than looking fierce and intimidating, Kelley just looks concerned. It makes Emily nervous.

“Look, if you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine. All I’m trying to do is make you feel better, because it’s pretty clear that you haven’t been yourself lately.” Emily must’ve looked unsure, because Kelley says, “Think of it as me paying you back for Chicago and helping me with my ankle. Okay?”

Cars start to move again and Emily turns to drive. It’s not until the next stop that Emily turns back to Kelley.

“I kissed Lindsey and then fucked it up.”

Kelley doesn’t react, even though Emily knows that she really wants to. All she asks is, “When?”

“After _ that _ Utah game.”

“I’m gonna have to ask, which one? Because I don’t think that it’s clear as to-”

“Shut up,” Emily says, smiling a little. It feels new on her face. It feels nice. Kelley laughs, and then Emily’s smile turns to laughter instead, filling up the car.

Once they relax a little, Kelley asks, “So wait. It’s been, what, a month? How bad did you fuck up exactly?”

“Well, before it, I got mad at her for pushing ARod, and then afterwards I accused her of doing it because she just broke up with Russel.”

“Okay, so a six on the fuck up scale.”

“I guess? What even is this scale?”

“I don’t know, but a six can definitely be fixed in a month. What have you been doing since then? Moping?”

“I like to call it self care, actually,” Emily says. It feels weirdly normal to talk about it, even joke about it. 

“Bullshit. You’re moping.” Emily just laughs. 

“Thank you for your diagnosis, Miss Kelley.”

Kelley salutes her. Emily laughs some more. Everything just seems so funny, now that she’s actually talking to someone else and outside of her apartment in the sunlight.

‘Rumor’ is playing now through the speakers. It sounds wrong, too sad, too _ pathetic. _ She suddenly changes it to ‘Ballin Flossin’ instead. She turns to see Kelley taking a video of her, and laughs. Cackles.

Maybe this will be okay, she thinks.

“I’m gonna post this on my story,” Kelley says, tapping excitedly on her phone. And Emily’s stomach drops.

“No, don’t,” she responds quickly.

Kelley gives her a confused look. Emily is just as confused. 

She can only think about Lindsey seeing it. Lindsey seeing it and thinking that she’s happy. Lindsey seeing it and knowing that Emily’s been ignoring her for the sake of ignoring her.

(It’s all true, to some degree. Emily just doesn’t want Lindsey to see her as an asshole. If she really wanted that, though, she wouldn’t have kissed Lindsey.)

Emily just shakes her head firmly. Kelley, thankfully, doesn’t question it until later that day, when they’re eating take out dinner on Emily’s balcony, looking at the Portland sunset.

“Why didn’t you want me to post that?”

Emily automatically quips, prepared from thinking about how to respond to the inevitable question, “I’m trying to lower my technology usage. It’s a drug, you know.”

Kelley raises her eyebrows, and Emily crumbles too quickly for her taste, “I don’t know why. I just don’t want Lindsey to see, you know. Me. I don’t think she wants to either.” She takes a sip of beer, “I wouldn’t know, though. I haven’t bothered to check.”

“You probably should’ve. She had that Players Tribune video, talking about PSG.”

Emily roughly swallows her beer, “_ PSG? _Shit.”

“Son, it’s okay. You didn’t know.” 

“Jesus, I need to apologize to her.”

Kelley puts on her ‘mom’ voice. It sounds vaguely disappointed. “Yeah, you do.” 

Emily nods and sighs. “I just, I don’t know how. I don’t think she wants to talk to me very much.”

“First of all, we’ll figure it out. I’ll help you. Second of all, I think she does. She posted that picture of you guys, you know, before you choked and lost in the semis-“

“Oh my God, what picture? This whole time, I thought- Christ. And we did not choke-” 

“I don’t know? I just thought it was kind of sweet, I don’t remember what it was!”

“You couldn’t be bothered to remember _ one _ picture? You’re a horrible friend.”

“Excuse me? I am here with your sad pathetic ass right now, cheering you up. I am the _ best _friend.”

“No, I think it’s Alex now. You know, we just really bonded last camp, and I think she wants to practice her parenting skills on me.”

“You jerk!” Kelley yells, slapping Emily on the arm. Emily slaps her back.

Once they’re done with hitting each other, they both sit back in their chairs, drinking their beers in unison. They’re Budweisers, of course, because Kelley has to support her sponsor. They’re sitting in the same way too, leaned back and legs stretched out. 

It’s moments like this where Emily can see how people can think that they’re so similar. They’re both strikers turned defenders out of Georgia, both have the same sense of humor. Both gay, though that’s not really a big differentiator in women’s soccer. It was important to Emily back then, though. 

Emily remembers her first national team camp, as a senior in college, having only heard of the Stanford legend, and having Kelley take her under her wing. She idolized Kelley at first. Not as much as Becky, but that’s a high bar. But once they got to know each other, it seemed freaky, having an icon coming from almost the same background. If Emily didn’t already know what it was like to have a twin, she would’ve learned with Kelley. People would compare them, tell them that they’re practically the same person.

But Emily would disagree with those people, like when people compare her to her own sister. Because Kelley is sure, loud, and confident. Kelley kicks ass. Emily just feels shaky and small. Even though Kelley is about two inches shorter than Emily, there are moments where Kelley just feels so much bigger, so free that she can’t be contained in her body. 

Emily wishes she were more like Kelley, wishes she had the guts to live her life without caring about things that don’t matter, and caring about things that do. Caring for all the right things. It always seems like Emily chooses to care about the wrong ones.

Emily isn’t jealous of Kelley. She’s proud. She’s just a little frustrated by how she can never seem to get there, never seem to break whatever is holding her back. She used to blame it on Lindsey. Now she’s not sure.

Emily’s a coward. She knows that. She hates it.

Emily takes a gulp of beer and grimaces before saying, “You can post that video, now, if you want.”

Kelley turns to her in surprise, “Really? You sure?”

“Yeah. I was just being dramatic.” The more she says it, the surer she gets. She feels weirdly proud. When Kelley still looks incredulous, she adds, “It’s not like this is a break up.”

Kelley bursts out laughing, “Sonny, you _ were _being dramatic as hell, but even I have to say: this is kind of a breakup.”

“It is _ not _! I’m not letting you post that thing anymore. Privileges revoked, I’m gonna go back to sulking now and you can’t stop me.”

Kelley responds by showing her the story proudly on her phone. Emily snorts. She, decidedly, does _ not _ cackle. She never cackles.

She hugs Kelley, wrapping her arms around her like a vice. Kelley, who was in the middle of swallowing her beer, almost spits it out. She actually lets some of it go, and a couple of drops land on Emily’s arm. She exclaims in disgust and lets Kelley go, wiping off the dribbled beer. 

Kelley smiles, “Psychological and chemical warfare.”

“You’re insane.”

“_You’re_ insane! You can’t just hug a woman like that? What was even the reason?”

“Is it enough to say that it’s because I love you and you’re my best friend?”

“No, I need you to stroke my ego a little bit more,” Kelley says, batting her eyelashes.

Emily mumbles quickly, “Thank you for helping me.”

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

She yells it instead, right in Kelley’s ears. Kelley grins and ‘aww’s and pulls Emily in for an even tighter hug than the one Emily just gave her. Even though Kelley is one of the strongest people she knows and it’s like a boa constrictor is strangling her, it’s warm. It’s grounding. Emily leans into the hug, patting Kelley on the back as much as Kelley’s arms let her move.

Once they separate, Kelley lifts her beer in a toast. “To breakups and fixing them before you even date!”

Emily starts to lift her own bottle in return but stops and smirks, “That’s too long. Think of a snappier phrase.”

Kelley gives her a stare and repeats forcefully, “To breakups and fixing them before you even date.”

Emily repeats after her; she has no choice, “To breakups and fixing them before you even date.”

They clink their bottles and lean back to watch the sun set behind the skyline.

—-

Lindsey doesn’t know why she agrees to meet with Emily. 

She doesn’t know why she tells Emily that they’re on the same flight from Denver to Ohio. She doesn’t know why she’s even worrying about it. If anything, Emily should be worrying.

The truth is, Lindsey misses Emily. A lot.

They’ve been sort of back to normal, but you can tell that something is so completely wrong. The way they talk is disjointed almost; it feels weirdly formal whenever they text. Lindsey has moved her bus seat from next to Emily to the back in between Caitlin and Ellie. Lindsey hasn’t told them what happened, but she knows that they can tell that something is off. They’ve taken Lindsey like a baby bird under their watchful wing, but it’s different. Lindsey doesn’t need protection. She didn’t ever get pity from Emily.

(One thing that stayed the same was that they still do their handshake before games. Lindsey reasons that it’s because they still depend on each other too much. At the North Carolina game, the one they got wrecked, it felt like a peace offering. A truce. A promise to keep up the facade. Whenever their hands touch, Lindsey’s heart starts to race.)

It doesn’t matter now, anyways. The Aussies have gone back to Australia, and Lindsey is finally home in Denver. It feels nice to have nothing to do, to sleep in, to eat Halloween candy and not care. She’s been spending time with her family. They treat Lindsey the same way that Caitlin and Ellie treated her. It’s not that Lindsey doesn’t appreciate her parents’ and brother’s concern for her rest and health, but it gets annoying at times. Lindsey goes running a lot, even in the cold weather, just to escape it.

(Whenever she runs, though, she can’t seem to escape the feeling of missing something. She can’t help but imagine a certain blonde defender wrapped up in a parka and a scarf going running with her, complaining of the cold, her cheeks and nose red.)

It’s all over too fast, though. Lindsey loves her job, sure, but she’s sort of dreading this camp. It’s so fucking _ cold _ for one, and training outside isn’t neccesarily ideal. And it’s stressful, not knowing the changes that come with a new coach; it means new lineups, new first impressions, new styles of playing, new players. 

Actually, she’s more worried about the players, her friends, that she’s been with for years. Rose, Mal, Sam, etc. They’ll be able to tell what’s going on immediately, ike they always do, and once they find out that _ something _is ever so slightly off there’s no telling about what kinds of interventions they’ll stage.

It’s going to be hard to avoid Emily at camp. 

Of course, Lindsey could start avoiding Emily by giving some dumb excuse that she already has plans, or by saying a flat ‘no’, or even just leaving her on read. But Lindsey is running to Emily with open arms, or rather, driving to Emily, with her arms tight and hands gripping the steering wheel like a life saver. Once it’s time to go and hug her mom goodbye, she almost can’t let go of it.

She doesn’t want to leave the safety of home, of Denver, just yet. She has no plan, she has no expectations, and maybe, just maybe, if she had a couple of more days to think things over, she’ll be ready. She’ll have some sort of idea of what Emily is going to do, and all of the meticulous ways she can respond to them. She won’t have her emotions in the way of doing the smart thing.

She doesn’t know what the smart thing to do is.

She worries about it all throughout airport security, her feet moving her along like she’s on autopilot. It kind of feels like she’s perpetually walking on one of those moving walkways, sailing through TSA until she’s reached all of the airport restaurants, which are either too branded or weird off brand ripoffs. 

Lindsey never really liked airports. She spends a lot of time in them, of course, she’s constantly traveling. She thought she’d get used to not being settled in one place for too long, but now she just wants to sit somewhere and grow roots, attaching her firmly to the ground, to reality. Preferably not in an airport, because those never feel attached to reality.

Not to give credit to Emily, but an airport is the perfect meeting place. It’s just surreal enough, just awkward enough to make it feel like just a bad dream.

Lindsey feels a buzz in the pocket of her coat. She reaches into it and sees a text from Emily.

_ Dasani: _I’m at the Dominos.

It feels strangely threatening and formal; there’s correct punctuation there and Lindsey didn’t even know that Emily knew how to do that. Lindsey doesn’t respond and just puts the phone back in her pocket. She hoists up her bags and starts walking in the direction of the Dominos, tugging along her USA suitcase. Somehow, rather than feeling like she’s floating, each step feels purposeful. Heavy. 

Like she’s making a conscious decision every time her foot hits the ground. Lindsey hates decisions. 

(Maybe she won’t have to make one, she hopes stupidly. Maybe they’ll just talk like friends.)

The Dominos, tucked into a little corner of the airport, is almost completely empty. Even the workers seem dead on their feet, and to be fair, there isn’t anything to do. If not for the rush of people outside, Lindsey would quite frankly be a little scared to go in. She supposes that it’s good to be in a place where no one would recognize them. It’s for the best, just in case something happens. Maybe nothing will happen.

Emily stands up when Lindsey enters. It feels weirdly respectful; Emily stands up ram rod straight and Lindsey half expects her to salute her. Lindsey just gives her a nod and says as confidently as she can manage, “Hey.”

“Hey.” Emily pulls out a chair for Lindsey to sit in. It’s all very mechanical and polite. She kind of wants Emily to pull it out from under her as she sits down.

Once Lindsey sits, Emily says, somewhat tentatively, “I got pizza.”

“I see that. Can I have some? I’m starving.” Lindsey hopes it’ll be enough to get back into their normal routine. Usually, she’d just steal it from Emily, but this will have to do.

Emily automatically pushes the pizza on it’s tray forcefully over to Lindsey, “No, yeah, of course. Go ahead.” 

She’s being too nice for Lindsey. Lindsey takes a bite out of the pizza anyways. It’s kind of shitty, but it’ll have to do too.

She sneaks a quick glance at Emily. She’s in her classic ‘airport attire’, and Lindsey knows exactly what it is from years of travelling together. It’s a baseball cap, pulled down low over an extremely messed up bun, sweatpants, and a sweatshirt, occasionally borrowed from Lindsey. This time, it’s Emily’s own.

Lindsey coughs before saying, “How was your flight in? Nice that you got, like, an hour in between flights.”

“It was good.”

She nods, “Good.”

“You ready for camp?”

“No.”

“Me either.”

Lindsey nods again. She’s doing entirely too much nodding. 

Lindsey starts, coughing yet again, “So, uh. I-“

“I’m sorry,” Emily says. Lindsey’s kind of glad that she interrupted her, she didn’t know where she was going before it. Emily is looking down, picking at some crumbs on the table. She looks so small in her oversized hoodie, so much like a child in her baseball cap.

Lindsey decides to push her for it. “For what?”

Emily looks up into Lindsey’s eyes. They’re intense, and Lindsey wants to look away but she can’t. She looks serious. “For everything,” she says. Lindsey swallows down some pizza.

Emily sighs, and plays with her twisted up hands, rearranging how they’re placed on the table. “I guess I should tell you everything, just completely come clean.” She looks up again. “I don’t know how much you know, but it can’t hurt, right?” Lindsey’s eyes are already there to meet hers, and she wishes they weren’t. She wishes that she wasn’t so ready for Emily. She wishes that she didn’t do the things she did.

“I’ve been in, uh, love with you since forever, I guess. I had a stupidly big crush on you at that camp, I fell in love again when we both came to the Thorns. So, I’ve been kind of creepily pining after you our entire friendship. Sorry,” she chuckles dryly. She’s looking at her hands again. They’re clasped tightly together, her knuckles turning white. She untangles them slowly, and tucks some stray hair away from her face behind her ear. Her shoulders hunch in like she’s taking a big breath, or bracing for an impact.

She looks up, “And I fucked up. I fucked up bad.”

Lindsey blurts out, “You kinda did.” She thinks about how she cried the moment she got back to her apartment in Portland. She remembers what the kiss was like. She bites her cheek and feels a lump forming in her throat. It feels huge, and she knows that Emily can’t see it, but it feels like she notices anyways.

“I was a self absorbed idiot and I should’ve been, I don’t know, less shitty.” she says, almost forcefully. It’s sincere. Lindsey knows that. Emily barks out a laugh, pushing back more of her hair, “That’s not a very good apology. I-” She stops suddenly, and sighs. She moves to redo her cap. Lindsey just stares intently at her. It’s not a good time to think about it, but she can’t help but notice how nice Emily’s eyes are when they’re not hidden under the shadow of her hat, even in the sterile and somehow also kind of gross Domino’s lighting. She hopes that Emily doesn’t look up and catch her staring.

Emily starts slowly, “I think I understand now. I think I can handle you rejecting me. Cause, like, I hurt you. You were vulnerable with me and then I pushed you away and avoided you because I was dumb and a coward. And then I got jealous, even though it was _ my _fault we weren’t talking.” She’s talking fast now, words rushing out like a rollercoaster.

Lindsey loves when Emily gets like this. Rambly. Her voice is soothing, for some reason, just the right amounts of smooth and raspy and at just the right times. Sometimes, she just likes listening to Emily talk, even if she doesn’t process anything she’s saying. She likes it especially as she’s driving, and is able to sneak small glances at Emily beside her. Emily’s eyes would always be right there, ready and open to meet Lindsey, and so would a smile. 

Now, she’s not looking at Lindsey, even though Lindsey thinks she can map out all of Emily’s eyes just from how much she’s staring at them, tracing them over and over. From Emily’s eye bags, to the hood, to the iris. She wants Emily to look up, to see how much she got right.

She wants Emily to stop talking, to look up, and give her a small smile.

Lindsey recognizes it from almost every time she catches her eye silently, no matter if it’s just them or in a crowded room. She feels the tug in her stomach that she used to push aside. She recognizes it now. She remembers it mostly from the last time Emily talked for too long, in that empty locker room. It’s dangerous, but it’s quiet enough that Lindsey doesn’t mind it worming it’s way into her brain so much.

She starts to pay attention again. Emily is still talking. “And you know what, there’s a lot more that I did wrong, and I am sorry for it. But I don’t expect you to forgive me. Look, I even get you not wanting to be friends with me anymore. And I can do that for you, just give me the word and I can leave you alone if you want-“

_ Not friends _ . Lindsey’s brain was loud with whispers of _ wants _that she doesn’t need, but suddenly it’s silent. It’s not about what she wants. She feels need, low in her heart. It feels like a wild beast, but weirdly, Lindsey isn’t scared of it. It’s not the first time she’s faced it, she’s felt it that night, she felt it in the aftermath. 

She’s not thinking, but the silence is calming.

“Em, wait,” she says suddenly.

“What?” Finally, Emily looks up. There’s no smile. Lindsey supposes that it’s fine, it doesn’t really feel appropriate anyways.

She takes a deep breath, but she doesn’t need to. She feels ready.

“Date me.”

Emily’s eyebrows shoot up, and her hands finally stop fiddling with whatever is on the table. “_ What? _” she says in a shrill voice. She looks around, most likely to see if anyone heard. Lindsey doesn’t know why she bothers, there’s no one else there. There’s a vivid pink blush on Emily’s cheeks.

Lindsey smiles, and it finally feels right. “Em, I like you. I’ve been in love with you for the longest time and I just realized it, like, a couple of months ago. And yes, it’s a lot and you were a dumbass, but I guess I love you despite it and it’s crazy and overwhelming and I thought I made that clear when I fucking_ kissed _you. Date me.”

“I- What? What about the team? We’re teammates, Linds, on two different teams! Just thinking about all of the things that can go wrong and fuck up the vibe, and- and you just got out of a long term relationship! God, I forgot about that!” Emily looks like she’s about to have an aneurysm. Lindsey kind of wants to laugh.

Emily inhales, “Look, Linds, I don’t want to make you do anything dumb, I just think that we should think about this some more, I’m not rushing you-“

“I know you have some sort of weird thing where you refuse to believe that I actually love you back, and I get it, Em. I do. I was messing around with your feelings, but that was only because I was being too stupid to admit that it’s because I liked you back. I _ like you back _, Son, can we stop doing this now?” Emily is silent after that, mouth slightly open. She looks less like she’s on the verge of exploding and more confused now. She has that cute little furrow in her brow.

Lindsey continues, “I miss you so fucking much it’s crazy. Even though you were such a dick to me, I still kept thinking about you all the time.”

Emily doesn’t smile as she says, so quietly that Lindsey almost misses it, “I missed you, too.” Lindsey feels herself relax. Her legs, which were once held tightly together, finally go loose and she breathes out. 

Emily is chewing her lip, head turned down to the table. Lindsey can’t really tell what she’s thinking - her cap blocks her face - but her hands have stopped fidgeting, and Lindsey supposes that that has to count for something.

It’s silent for a moment. Lindsey can hear the thrum of the airport just outside, but it still feels silent. It doesn’t stress her like it used to. At least, like it used to after it didn’t use to. During the weird period of _ whatever. _

Emily looks up suddenly and says, “Fuck it.”

It’s Lindsey’s turn to ask, shocked, “What?”

Emily takes off her hat and scooches back her chair. It makes a loud scraping noise, cutting through the thick air. She gets up quickly, and Lindsey’s sort of afraid that she’s about to just leave. She looks almost awkward, and it _ is _sort of awkward as Emily fumbles her way to Lindsey, maneuvering her limbs through the tight space. It’s funny, how she hops around chair legs and narrowly avoids tripping over the, her face stuck in perpetual surprise, and Lindsey almost laughs.

But then Emily is leaning down, and before Lindsey can make a sound, Emily’s lips have captured her own and they’re kissing. Lindsey almost giggles into it, out of shock and relief but mostly out of just how natural it feels. Because once their lips touch, Lindsey’s mind goes blank.

It’s sweet, tender. It’s different from their first kiss. It’s warm but not fiery, exciting but it makes Lindsey feel like she’s home. Like she’s safe and _ wanted. _Emily goes slow and soft, placing her hand gently on Lindsey’s cheek, and it feels like they could be in any romantic spot and not in an airport Dominos. Lindsey feels like she’s melting.

Emily pulls back, and finally there is a soft smile on her face, her eyes crinkling up and they’re so close that Lindsey can see all of the specific wrinkles. Emily’s shining with joy, and Lindsey can’t believe she almost forgot that Emily wanted this too.

“Sorry I had to get up. I didn’t want to reach over the table and ruin my white sweatshirt,” Emily jokes, voice just a touch raspy. She doesn’t have that face she makes when she jokes around, though, the one of perfect cheekiness. Emily looks happy. Almost sheepishly so, a blush slowly forming on her cheeks.

Lindsey laughs, “So, uh, is that a yes? I don’t know, I just don’t think kisses are a clear indicator of attraction-”

Emily cackles loudly, “Shut up. Yes. Of course. Fuck responsibility and ethics and whatever. We’ll figure it out. It’ll be fine, you know we can-”

And Emily is starting to get up again to move back to her chair, so wrapped up in whatever thought process that she’s forming out loud, and Lindsey interrupts her and says, “Oh my God, stop talking please.”

Her mind is still blank as she pulls Emily down by the collar of her sweatshirt and kisses her again, this time placing her hand on Emily’s cheek and moving it to her hair, messed up from taking the hat off. Emily is warm.

Lindsey pulls back, takes one look at Emily, sweatshirt wrinkled and hair all over the place, and laughs. Emily pouts.

“You got your oily hands on my sweatshirt. And you taste like Domino’s.”

“I’m sorry, would you prefer Pizza Hut instead?”

Emily smiles softly, cheekily, but the way her eyes scrunch up slightly makes Lindsey’s heart legitimately swoon, “Nah, I think Domino’s will now always have a special place in my heart. Also, we should maybe tip the guy before we leave.”

Lindsey glances over at the cashier, who is looking at his phone very nonchalantly, almost too nonchalant. She glances back at the airport, filled with families with their crying and hungry children, businessmen on their phones, regular people who look absolutely dead on their feet. And she laughs. It starts out as giggles escaping from a tight lipped smile, and then turns into full-on belly laughs. She can hear Emily start to laugh too, throaty and slightly raspy. 

When they leave, they throw a couple of bills into the jar on the counter. The boy at the counter won’t look at them as he says ‘thank you’.

They burst into laughter again once they exit, leaning into each other gently.

\---

Lindsey enters the plane, and it’s crowded and loud for a random midday flight to Ohio in the middle of November. She pushes through the aisles with her bags, clutching her forgotten phone charger in her hand. She briefly wonders where Emily is sitting, they didn’t coordinate their seats because they weren’t talking, and Emily went ahead of her as Lindsey went to grab the charger. She looks over the sea of people to find Emily’s stupid white baseball cap that she wears even on a plane.

She’s surprised to find Emily sitting in the seat next to hers, on the outside, because she always takes the aisle seat. She’s scrolling through something on her phone, headphones around her neck, lounging comfortably. Lindsey taps her on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, this isn’t your seat. I’m afraid that if you don’t move, I’m going to have to call an attendant.”

Emily looks up at her in surprise, but then it turns into a smirk, “Call them over, I dare you.”

“I won’t hesitate.” Emily only raises her eyebrows, smile growing wider. Lindsey, in response, begins to raise her hand to call the attention of a nearby attendant, who is helping someone with their bags. 

Emily pulls Lindsey’s hand down quickly, laughing, “You’re so mean!” Lindsey just smiles sweetly, and after putting her bags in the compartment, pushes her way into the middle seat. 

“Actually, though, how did you even get this seat?”

“I have my ways.”

Lindsey gives Emily a look, “What poor person did you antagonize?”

“No one! There was this very sweet old lady-”

“Sonnett, you didn’t terrorize an elderly woman. Please tell me you didn’t.”

“Why do you always assume the worst? No, I turned on that southern charm and asked her politely-”

“Sure you did-”

“By saying that I wanted to sit next to my girlfriend. I really sold it, you know, talking about how we met when we were kids, etcetera. Old women love young romance. I even helped her with her bags and she said that I was a very strong young lady and that she wishes me luck.”

Lindsey stops in the middle of whatever snarky comeback she was responding with because her brain stopped working.

_ Girlfriend. _ Not just _ friend _ . Old ladies wouldn’t trade seats for just _ friends. _

Emily smacks an obnoxious kiss onto Lindsey’s cheek, and as she pulls back, Lindsey can see a grin on her face. 

“Watch it, or else I’m breaking up with you,” Lindsey tries to retort, but it comes out much sweeter than normal. 

Emily just slides her hand into Lindsey’s quietly, looking at her phone like it’s nothing. Lindsey knows that it’s not nothing, because Emily is blushing profusely. It’s not like they haven’t done it before, and Lindsey almost tells Emily so, but decides that it’s enough teasing for today. She simply rests her head on Emily’s, and they fit so perfectly together.

They fall asleep on that flight, hands intertwined, and leaning on each other, stopping the other from falling completely into the other seat.

When Lindsey wakes up for a moment, eyes sleepily blinking open, she’s struck by how normal it feels. How much it just makes _ sense. _How much she missed this.

She snuggles closer to her _ girlfriend _, and can see Emily smile just a bit more in her sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its over! this turned into 6k words and idk how.... i think im tired from angst now. anyways, more stuff coming, like for my other multichap and maybe a one shot! it will, hopefully, be fluffier.
> 
> i rly hope yall enjoyed this, and tysm for all of the comments and reactions!!!


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